


Humanity's Angels

by amirosebooks, sevenspirals



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Biphobia, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bisexuality, Blowjobs, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Consent is Sexy, Flashbacks, Homophobia, Jealous Dean, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Past Rape/Non-con, Pining Dean, Riding, Top Castiel, Top Dean, handjobs, no main character death (i promise you), spn canon big bang 2017, underage talk of masturbation (nothing on page)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 08:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 92,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11710413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amirosebooks/pseuds/amirosebooks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenspirals/pseuds/sevenspirals
Summary: To get their minds off of Kelly Kline, Lucifer, and the BMOL, Dean and Sam take a case in Northern Arizona where a rogue angel was seen flashing his wings at a film festival and ranting about blasphemy. They quickly realize that there might be more to this case than they’d initially thought. The angel fits all the characteristics of being a ghost—EMF readings, see-through body, air chilling ability, and all. A local man is found with his eyes burned out like he was the victim of a smiting keeps them in town after salting and burning the angel’s buried vessel in hopes of dispelling his ghost.Between all of this, Dean is finding it hard to keep his feelings for Cas under wraps. Especially when everywhere he looks and everyone he talks to reminds him of how much energy he’s spent hiding his sexuality from his family over the years.Will watching the ghost angel’s grieving best friend mourn the loss of the angel he’d loved spur Dean into confessing his own feelings before it’s too late? Will an angel from Cas's past be able to succeed where Ishim failed? Who the hell has Sam been texting? Will someone please tell Mary what the hell is going on with her sons? Will any of Team Free Will learn to use their damn words?





	1. Bunker

**Author's Note:**

> Written by: amirosebooks  
> Art by: sevenspirals

Dean paced through the bunker rolling his eyes at the hunter on the phone. He’d called one of Bobby’s old contacts who was known for keeping an ear to the ground in hopes the man had heard something about Kelly Kline’s whereabouts. Or if he knew of any way to keep a nephilim from being dangerous to the world at large or how to kill Lucifer or anything helpful at all.

Instead, what Dean got was a lot of old man hunter gossip that made him want to reach through the phone and choke the guy out.

“Did you hear about Trisha Baker?” the hunter asked.

Dean studied a shadow on the wall and counted to ten to keep from yelling. “No, is it relevant?”

“She turned full-on lesbo,” the hunter said. “Moved to Illinois and started banging some chick. She was married to that guy Harper for a while. You remember him?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Dean said. He needed this conversation to end, immediately. This was why he hated reaching out to these old hunters. They had a tendency to be more close-minded and prejudiced about people who were different from them. “What does she have to do with Lucifer’s baby mama?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing, I guess,” the hunter said. “I thought you’d like to know. Figured if anyone could convince her to come back to team dick it’d be you. John Winchester’s pride and joy, am I right? You want her number?”

“I’ve got to go,” Dean said. He hung up without bothering to respond politely. “What an asshole.”

He killed the phone call application and opened up his text messages out of habit. Cas still hadn’t replied to the message Dean sent earlier that day. It wasn’t anything that required a response, just a quick check-in, but the radio silence bothered him in ways he didn’t want to study too closely. A small part of him had believed that, after nearly dying from Michael’s lance, Cas would have stuck around for a little while. Especially after everything he’d said while dying.

Dean closed that app too and headed toward the library; maybe Sam had finally found something.

Sam’s voice filtered down the hallway. He was talking to someone and laughing, either on the phone or one of those video chats he liked so much. Huh. That was happening more and more often in the last few months.

Dean listened for a moment longer, but wasn’t able to pick up any of the conversation. Sam’s words were too quiet to decipher from this far away. He let his feet hit the floor a little harder than normal so Sam would have enough time to notice him coming and not get startled.

Sam was trying to hide one of his dopey looking smiles and staring at his laptop screen when Dean finally entered the library. Probably a video chat, then. He idly wondered who Sam was talking to, but figured it wasn’t worth starting a fight over if Sam wasn’t ready to talk about it. Dean would wait until Sam stopped trying to hide the conversations first.

“Well, that asshole was a bust,” Dean said. He took a seat across from Sam and kicked his feet up on the table. “Let’s never call him again, by the way. Homophobic piece of shit was trying to pimp me out so I could fuck the gay out of some hunter chick.”

Sam shook his head. “I told you there was a reason I stopped bothering with other hunters.”

Dean snorted.

“Please, you keep in touch with more hunters than I do these days,” Dean said.

“I keep in touch with the ones who aren’t raging homophobes,” Sam said. “I still don’t understand why you thought he’d have any relevant answers.”

“Desperate times,” Dean said. He picked up the mug of coffee he’d left on the table before his phone call and took a sip. It was cold. He made a face and stared down at the dark liquid before shrugging and downing the rest in a few quick gulps. He put the empty mug back on the table and fidgeted with the handle. “I want a solid lead on this Lucifer’s baby mama drama. So we’re not all scattered to the wind trying to find clues.”

“Have you talked to Cas today?” Sam asked as he watched Dean from over his laptop screen.

Dean scowled. His brother was starting to pay too much attention to him.

“He’s busy,” Dean said. Which was true. They’d spoken on the phone the night before for a few minutes. Cas had warned him he’d be traveling a lot the next few days and wasn’t sure if he’d be able to respond to Dean quickly. That didn’t make Dean wish to hear from him any less. “You find anything on your end?”

Sam shook his head. “Nothing related to Kelly or her baby.”

Dean dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling and groaned. “At least tell me you’ve found a case or, hell, even a farmers market convention thing three states over you’ve always wanted to visit. I’m going out of my mind here, Sam.”

Sam sat back in his chair and looked at Dean with his head cocked to the side.

“Well, there was the case I tried telling you about over breakfast,” Sam said.

Dean stared at his brother.

“What case?” Dean asked. “You didn’t say anything about a case.”

Sam shuffled through some of the papers spread out on the table next to him and passed them over.

“You were... distracted this morning,” Sam said. “And it’s probably not our kinda thing anyway. If you’re not up for it, we can call someone else to take a look at it. I’m sure Mom knows someone out there.”

“Give me that.” Dean glared at his brother as he snatched the papers from him.

He read through what Sam had printed out. It was a newspaper clipping about mysterious technical difficulties that took place at a small town theater during a recent film festival showing of the 90’s John Travolta film, _Michael_. The next page looked like Sam had hit ‘print’ on a page of messages from one of those social media sites he seemed to like so much.

Dean frowned and held the page up to Sam.

“You know I can’t decipher this crap,” Dean said.

Sam pressed his lips together to hide a smile. Dean narrowed his eyes at him as Sam took the paper and set it down on the table between them. He pointed to the top of the page.

“Pound sign angelsamongus? What the hell is this?” Dean asked as he read what Sam was pointing at. It was after he’d read that out loud he realized that same string of symbols and text was also in all the little boxes below it.

“Hashtag,” Sam said, like that explained anything.

Dean stared at him.

Sam shook his head and huffed.

“It’s hashtag, angels among us, Dean. Not pound sign,” Sam said. “It’s a tag that started on Twitter minutes after these supposed technical difficulties happened. And get this, the tag originated in this small town in Arizona. People got on their phones and started tweeting about whatever it was they saw at the theater.”

Dean stared at Sam. “English, Sammy.”

Sam stared at Dean with his mouth open for a moment before snapping his mouth shut and shaking his head.

“Here,” Sam said as he clicked around on his laptop for a bit before turning it around so Dean could see the screen. “This is a video I found under the tag. I think it’s from the theater that night and it looks nothing like technical difficulties to me.”

“Why didn’t you just show me the video in the first place?” Dean asked threw his hands up in frustration.

“Just watch the damn video.”

Dean scowled and turned his attention to the laptop screen.

The video was grainy, dark, and the audio was awful. It looked like it was shot on a cellphone. Instead of turning the phone on its side, the photographer held it vertical which left half the frame covered by the silhouette of people’s heads.

Between the heads, Dean was able to see the bottom of the movie theater screen. There was a man standing in front of the screen. With the poor film quality, it was pretty hard to make out details. The man could be in a costume or a ghost or a lively cardboard cutout for all Dean could tell. He seemed to be ranting at the audience and Dean couldn’t make out what he was saying. The audience started to boo the ranting man. A flash of white light filled the screen, followed by screams.

The person holding the cellphone fumbled their phone and when they finally got it held up again there were huge white angel wings spread out behind the man in front of the screen. The crappy video quality made the wings look a little bit like they were blue and glowing. His ranting grew more passionate then the video cut out completely.

Dean stared at the black screen. “What _is it_ with Cas’s family lately? It’s not bad enough that we’ve got his archangel brother trying to bring another antichrist into the world and others trying to kill the baby off before it’s even be born, but they’ve gotta go nuts in public now, too?”

“Seems that way,” Sam said. “Some of the tweets explained what the guy was saying.” He picked up the page of messages, or tweets Dean guessed they were called. Sam scanned over the page before he found what he was looking for. “Okay, here it is. ‘Blasphemy. Michael is mad. Michael is gone. We’re fallen and lost. Blasphemy.’”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Awesome, let’s go kick some angel ass, then.”

“Should we call Cas to see if he wants to meet us there?” Sam asked.

Dean frowned. He rewound the video a few frames and paused it after the angel stretched out their wings. The last thing he wanted to do was drag Cas into another family feud, but he didn’t have the heart to hide this from the angel either.

“Yeah, I’ll call him,” Dean said with a sigh. “It’ll probably go straight to voicemail, though.”

“Your call,” Sam said as he started gathering his stuff to head out on the road.

“What kind of film festival plays _Michael_ , anyway?” Dean asked. “I don’t remember that movie being very family friendly.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Sam said. He shuffled through his stack of papers again and handed Dean a flyer he’d printed out advertising the festival. ‘1990s Movies With Angels Festival’ was written in bold script across the top of the flyer. Every Saturday of the month there was a different film scheduled. The first weekend was _Michael_ , which they already knew. Next weekend was a Robin Williams movie called _What Dreams May Come_. The following weekend was the Meg Ryan movie _City of Angels_. The last weekend had _Angels in the Outfield_.

“Well, that list of movies looks cheerful,” Dean said.

Sam snorted.

“I’m going to go pack,” Sam said as he got up and left the library.

Dean tapped the flyer with his index finger and pulled out his phone. He brought up Cas’s contact information and hit call. While the phone rang, Dean played the video one more time on mute. There was something odd about the angel in the video, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

Cas’s voicemail picked up and Dean felt himself smile at the recording of Cas’s voice.

“Hey Cas, Sam found us a case,” Dean said. “Another one of your feathery siblings is causing a fuss in public. We’re leaving for…” Dean picked up the flyer and looked for the address of the theater. “Prescott, Arizona in the morning. It’ll probably take us a couple days to get there.” He paused, fought with himself, and eventually gave in. “Let me know if you can make it out there. We could use your expertise on this one.”

He hung up the phone before he could say anything embarrassing like how quiet the bunker was without Cas stalking around it. Or how the guest bedroom kept getting dusty and the bed had stopped smelling like Cas days ago. That would be admitting to too much. Admitting to the fact that he’d gotten into the habit of taking stress naps in there when Cas didn’t answer his phone for a few days at a time or when a nightmare of Cas dying on that ugly couch woke him up screaming.

Dean swallowed hard.

Working a case was exactly what he needed right now.

 

* * *

 

(Art by [sevenspirals](http://sevenspirals.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.)


	2. Gas-N-Sip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are on the road to Arizona and stop for some gas and memories.

They stopped at a Gas-N-Sip outside of Prescott a few hours before the movie. After they filled up Baby with gas, they ventured inside for directions, snacks, and a restroom break.

They’d grown up on the road, and Dean loved driving. It was one of the few things that settled his mind when things were going out of control, but the older he got, the more driving for hours on end punished his body.

They parted ways once inside the little convenience store attached to the gas station. Sam headed toward the far wall where a sign advertised healthy foods. Dean veered left, picking up a hand basket. He grabbed whatever snacks caught his eye.

The call with the gossiping hunter from a few days prior still weighed heavy in his mind. In the last few years, Dean had mostly forgotten how cruel and close-minded other hunters could be. He’d gotten more comfortable with himself after getting distance from them, from that way of life. It was hard to justify being worried about what people were whispering about you when you were trying to stop the world from ending for the millionth time.

Meeting younger hunters like Max and Alicia, Eileen Leahy, or even Jesse and Cesar gave Dean hope that hunter culture could change. Part of him hoped he didn’t have to lead that particular revolution, though.

Still, that phone call served as a reminder of all the times Dean had spent looking over his shoulder growing up. The years he’d spent worrying that someone was going to see something in Dean’s behavior, in where his eyes wandered, and report it back to John.

He closed his eyes and grabbed a random bag off the rack of chips. Then he glanced around the store looking for his brother. He spotted Sam at the counter accepting the key to the men’s room.

Dean made his way to the magazine rack as the door to the restroom closed behind his brother. Dean started to subtly stretch his sore legs as he looked over the selection of magazines. His gaze glided over the ones about guns, hunting, the porn in sealed plastic bags, and the ones about beauty. He lingered for a moment on ones related to cooking and another about home decor. Finally, he spotted a men’s fitness and lifestyle magazine with some ripped action movie star posing on the front. A headline hovered over the guy’s left hipbone which read ‘5 Simple Exercises to Beat Fatigue.’ Dean glanced over his shoulder again before picking up the magazine and flipping through the pages.

Before long, Dean had finished the article and was deep into the interview with the action star from the cover. The guy had a scruffy beard with a twisted smile and bright, light colored eyes. Dean couldn’t name the movie the guy was promoting if he had a gun to his head. He swallowed hard as his pulse hammered in his ears.

“That better not be porn,” Sam said as he slapped Dean on the shoulder.

Dean snapped the magazine shut and shoved it back on the shelf. He could feel his cheeks heat as he pushed the basket of supplies at Sam.

“What took you so long?” Dean asked.

Sam raised his eyebrows as he looked at the collection of things Dean had gathered in the basket.

“Seriously, Dean?” Sam asked as he held up a bag of pork rinds.

“Shut up,” Dean said. “Where’s the men’s room key?”

Sam handed over the key and Dean stormed off before Sam could say anything else.

Shame and memories from years before nipped at Dean’s heels. Anxiety-tinged bile clawed at the back of his throat as he all but slammed the men’s room door shut behind himself.

 

_24 Years Earlier_

 

_Dean was 14 and Sam was nearing his 10th birthday. They were on the road between jobs and stopped at a gas station with their dad. Dean wandered the aisles of the Gas-N-Sip tossing things their dad had told him to get into a basket while John was in the men’s room. If Dean grabbed a little more food than John had requested, that was his business. He knew his dad was planning to head out as soon as he’d dropped Dean and Sammy at the motel. It was better to be prepared._

_Once he’d gathered everything up, Dean looked around the store for Sam. He found his little brother standing in the candy aisle with two different candy bars in his hands looking back and forth between them like he was trying to decide which one to get._

_Dean smirked and shook his head._

_He wandered away and ended up at the magazine rack. He set the basket on the floor between his feet as he flipped through the pages of the first magazine that caught his eye._

_A two-page black and white Calvin Klein ad caught his eye. Dean cocked his head to the side as he stared at the guy in the pictures._

_“Holy shit,” Dean said under his breath. “Sammy, come look at this.”_

_Sam wasn’t a teenager yet, but he already had the attitude down. He stomped over to Dean’s side, both candy bars still in his hands._

_“What, Dean?” Sam asked._

_Dean tilted the magazine so his brother could see the advertisements._

_“I think that’s Marky Mark the rapper,” Dean said with a laugh._

_“Ugh,” Sam said. “What are you, gay? Why are you showing me some guy’s underwear ad?”_

_Dean froze._

_“The girl is pretty though,” Sam said._

_Dean looked at the ad on the right with the too-skinny blonde girl wrapped up in Marky Mark’s muscular arms. Dean swallowed. He’d noticed there were two people in these pictures before. Right?_

_Dean closed the magazine and shoved it on the shelf. He turned to look at his little brother still holding both candy bars. Irritation had him clenching his hands around air._

_“You can’t have two kinds of candy, Sammy,” Dean said. “You have to choose only one, remember?”_

_Sam looked from the candy bars in his hands and back up to Dean._

_“Are you okay?” Sam asked._

_“You boys done yet?” John asked._

_Dean picked up the basket and silently prayed that his dad hadn’t heard the rest of their conversation. Dean snatched both of the candy bars from Sam’s hands and stuffed them in the basket._

_“Yes, sir,” Dean said. He passed John the basket._

_John looked over what Dean had grabbed. He paused when he saw the extra boxes of macaroni and cheese and the extra loaf of bread. He looked up at Dean._

_“Can never be too prepared, right dad?” Dean asked._

_John nodded._

_“You boys wait in the car,” John said. He passed Dean the keys to the Impala._

_A couple hours later Dean and Sam watched the Impala’s taillights disappear onto the road from the window of the motel John had paid for and left them in. He’d sworn he’d be back for them in three days. Dean was starting to realize three days meant something closer to a full week in John Winchester’s world._

_Dean dug through the gas station bags and set out to make Sam some of the macaroni and cheese. He was thankful their dad remembered to find a motel that had an actual stove this time. Trying to cook hot dogs in a plug-in coffee pot was not as easy as it seemed. Dean had tried a month before, in Albuquerque, and ended up with something Sam dubbed hot dog soup. Which was exactly as horrifying as it sounded._

_Once the macaroni and cheese was finished, Dean spooned some into two of the bowls he carried in his duffel. Sam got an extra scoop because he was a growing boy. Dean put the pot with the rest of the macaroni and cheese into the fridge on one of the wire shelves._

_After dinner he pulled out both of the candy bars Sammy had picked out at the gas station and tossed them to his little brother who was sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the motel room television. Sam looked up at Dean with a confused expression._

_“I thought you said I had to choose one?” Sam asked._

_Dean gave Sammy an uncomfortable, ambiguous smile._

_“Nah,” Dean said as he settled onto one of the beds. “You can have whatever you want.”_

_Sammy grinned and tore open one of the wrappers._

_“Don’t eat it all tonight,” Dean said. “I’m not buying you any more until dad gets back.”_

_“Okay,” Sam said. He looked up at Dean and grinned around a mouthful of candy. His grin melted into a frown. “Where’s your candy?”_

_“I didn’t want any,” Dean said. He picked up the television remote from the edge of the bed and turned up the volume._

_Sam shrugged and turned back to his show._

_Dean leaned back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling._

_A few minutes later, something thumped onto the bed next to Dean’s hip. He sat up, frowning, to see what it was. His lips quirked when he saw the candy bar on the ratty old bedspread._

_“What’s this?” Dean asked._

_“I don’t like that one,” Sam said without turning around. “You can have it.”_

_Dean’s smile widened as he settled back onto the bed. “Thanks.”_

_“Whatever, jerk,” Sam said._

_“Bitch,” Dean said._

 

_Present Day_

 

Dean started the engine as Sam slid into the passenger seat. Sam pulled out the drinks and snacks they’d picked out to eat on the road. Dean shook his head when Sam tried to pass Dean his bag of pork rinds.

“Nope, I’m saving room for movie theater food.” Dean patted his stomach. “I want the biggest bucket of buttered popcorn they’ve got, a hot dog with all the trimmings, a box of candy, and a soda as big as your face to wash it all down.”

Sam stared back at Dean with one of his trademark bitch face expressions.

“That’s disgusting,” Sam said. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“Or what, Sam?” Dean asked. “Am I gonna die? Been there, done that. It never sticks.”

Sam sighed and opened one of his bottled, pre-packaged smoothie drinks. It was green. Dean grimaced as he imagined what it must taste like.

When they got back onto the highway on their way to the movie theater, Dean started to feel Sam staring holes into his cheek.

“What?” Dean asked without taking his eyes off the road.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked.

Dean gritted his teeth for a moment before plastering on a fake smile. He flashed the fake grin at Sam before turning back to the road.

“Peachy,” Dean said. “Let’s go buy tickets for this stupid movie, then deal with Cas’s riled up sibling.”

“Speaking of, have you talked to Cas yet?” Sam asked.

“No,” Dean said. He cleared his throat and ignored Sam’s pitying frown. “He’s busy following a lead. He’ll call me whenever he gets a chance.”

“Are you okay with that?” Sam asked.

“Okay with what?” Dean asked. “I’m not his mom.”

Sam pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Whatever you say.”

Dean reached over to turn up the radio to discourage Sam from trying to continue the conversation. All Dean needed right now was to work this case. Find this angel who was causing a scene, kick its feathery ass, and get back to the bunker before the outside world started to wear away at Dean’s patience as much as being cooped up in the bunker had.

Everything would be fine.


	3. What Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam catch a movie.

When they reached the theater there was a line wrapping around the building. Dean stopped in his tracks and stared at the line of people with slumped shoulders.

“Really?” Dean asked.

Sam patted Dean on the shoulder.

“Why don’t you try calling Cas again?” Sam said. “I’ll get the tickets. You’ll feel better after you check in with him anyway.”

Dean frowned at Sam as his brother walked toward the end of the ticket line.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean called out.

Sam waved a hand at Dean in response before taking his place in line. Sam started up a conversation with a couple of women in front of him in line. Dean grinned.

“Way to go, Sammy,” Dean said to himself.

Dean turned away. He needed to find a quiet spot to make his call to Cas. There was good chance he wouldn’t even answer when Dean called, he was a busy angel these days, but Dean didn’t want the background noise making his voicemail indecipherable. And if Cas did pick up, Dean didn’t really want all the noise distracting him from what Cas had to say.

Dean walked a little further up the street from the theater and found a quiet side street. He pulled out his phone, navigated to his favorite people in his contacts list and pressed Cas’s name. He licked his lips as he slowed his pace and put the phone up to his ear.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas answered after two rings.

Dean smiled in spite of himself.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said. “How is it going?”

Cas grumbled.

“I’ve hit another dead end,” Cas said. “I was sure this time that my information was correct, but Kelly seems determined to keep three steps ahead of us.”

“We’ll find her,” Dean said.

Cas grunted.

“What about you and Sam?” Cas asked. “I got your message about the case. Did you make it to Arizona yet?”

“Yeah, we just got into town,” Dean said. “I conned Sam into standing in line for movie tickets while I called you.”

Cas chuckled.

Dean rubbed at his chest and leaned against the brick wall of an old church. It had only been a couple weeks, but he missed hearing that laugh in person.

Dean closed his eyes.

“In your voicemail you didn’t mention what kind of case it was,” Cas said. “You said an angel is involved?”

“Sam found a video online,” Dean said. “It’s some crappy handcam stuff from a film festival out here. One of your feathery family members showed up flashing his wings to the public. I guess he doesn’t approve of movies about angels.”

“Movies about angels?” Cas asked. His tone was even, controlled. Dean knew him well enough to know he’d piqued Cas’s interest. Apparently the angel hadn’t found movies about his family during his Netflix binge.

“Yeah,” Dean said. He made a mental note to find a few movies related to Heaven and angels that didn’t suck to watch with him later. Purely for the amusement factor of watching Cas tear them apart and bitch about their inaccuracies. “There’s a film festival going on with a bunch of movies about Heaven and angels. The angel showed up last weekend at the end of the first movie and started ranting at the people in the audience.”

“That is unusual,” Cas said.

Dean opened his eyes and stared at the top of the building across the street.

“There’s something else,” Dean said. He swallowed hard and steadied himself before continuing. “The angel… there’s something off about him. The video Sam showed me was really low quality. And the comments from people online said a lot of crazy things, but… ”

“But what, Dean?”

“One of the people online said the angel looked like a ghost,” Dean said with a laugh. “Which is… nuts. I mean, angels don’t become ghosts.”

Silence came from Cas’s end of the call. Silence that was deep enough and long enough that Dean pulled the phone away from his ear to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.

“Cas?” Dean asked.

“I-I’m here,” Cas said. He sounded tired and worried. “When you say like a ghost…”

“The video was really low quality, so it’s probably nothing,” Dean said. “We wanted to get a closer look, anyway. Your siblings have a habit of causing mayhem when they’re left unattended. Besides, there’s a chance it was all a smoke and mirrors trick to promote the festival.”

“But if it is an angel and the angel is a ghost…” Cas said. “Dean, do you know what that means?”

“Cas,” Dean said. “I’m sure this is nothing.”

“Dean,” Cas said. “I need to know.”

Dean nodded even though he knew Cas couldn’t see it. “Okay.”

“You said Prescott, right?” Cas asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said.

“I’ll meet you there in the morning,” Cas said.

“Don’t rush,” Dean said. Even though, somewhere deep in the marrow of his bones, he wanted to say the exact opposite. “We’ll hold off on any deep investigating until you get here.”

“Thank you,” Cas said.

Dean saw movement to his left. Sam walked toward him and held up their tickets between two of his fingers. Dean nodded at him.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Cas,” Dean said. “Drive safe.”

“Of course,” Cas said. “I will call you when I’m close.”

They said their goodbyes, and Dean hung up the phone. He stared at the black screen for a moment. The ache in his chest had spread to his arms. Just a few more hours, and he’d at least be able to give Cas a hug and see for himself that there were no lingering effects from Michael’s lance.

“How’s Cas?” Sam asked as he reached Dean’s side.

“He’s fine,” Dean said. He slipped his phone into his pocket and turned to his brother. “He hit a dead end on Kelly. I told him more about our case. He said he’ll be here in the morning. I told him we’d wait to do the rest of the investigating until after he got here.”

Sam nodded.

“Mom called while I was in line,” Sam said. “I told her we were working a case, and she offered to meet us here in the morning, too.”

“Family reunion, huh?” Dean said.

“Looks like it,” Sam said. His expression betrayed exactly what he thought about Dean including Cas in the family reunion comment.

Sam’s smiles and knowing looks had become all too observant and pointed when it came to Dean and Cas’s friendship in recent years, even more so in the last several weeks. Sometimes it was reassuring that Sam seemed to know the way Cas drove Dean crazy. Other times, it made everything hurt more because Dean had no intentions of acting on any of his feelings.

“Come on,” Sam’s words snapped Dean out of his melancholy. “Let’s go get your artery clogging feast out of the way so we can find seats before the theater fills up completely.”

When they got closer to the theater, Dean noticed a group of people standing outside in a rough circle. They were holding hands with their heads bowed. Dean and Sam exchanged a glance. Sam shook his head to indicate that he hadn’t seen them out front before when he was in line.

They approached the circle of people.

“Brothers and sisters,” a female voice said from somewhere in the middle of the circle. “Last weekend, God sent one of his angels here to watch over our film festival. That angel brought us a message. A message about the blasphemy Hollywood feeds us.”

Murmurs of agreement ran through the prayer circle.

Dean tilted his head so he could see the woman speaking in the center of the circle. Her gray hair was pulled back in a low bun and her clothing was somehow casual and severe at the same time. She continued to speak with passion and the kind of presence that reminded Dean of Sundays when his dad had drug him and Sam to visit Pastor Jim’s church.

“That explains why the ticket seller told me they were close to having a full house tonight,” Sam said quietly. “The video from last weekend made the crowd look thin, but getting the attention of a local church group seems to have helped stir up interest in the festival.”

“Isn’t that convenient?” Dean asked. “You think it’s a hoax? Someone from the church or the theater playing angel dress up to get more sales?”

“It’s a possibility,” Sam said.

The doors leading into the theater opened and the woman leading the prayer circle ended her sermon. She led the crowd toward the open doors. Dean held up a hand as he moved into her path to get her attention. She looked him up and down before slowing to a stop.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Hi, I’m Dean, this is my brother Sam,” Dean said, gesturing at Sam next to him. “We were passing through and thought we’d check out this film festival. Did you say an angel showed up here last weekend?”

She hummed thoughtfully.

“Many of us believe it was an angel, yes,” she said. “Whether he was an angel or a man dressed as one is of no importance. God sent him as a sign.”

“Do you know who is in charge of the festival?” Sam asked. “Is it a private party or a local church? We’d like to talk with the organizers.”

“My assistant Nicole can answer your questions,” the woman said as she gestured for a younger woman to come forward from the crowd. “I am needed elsewhere.”

The older woman walked away quickly as Nicole came to a stop in front of Dean and Sam with a cheerful grin on her face. The rest of the prayer circle followed Carolynn into the theater.

“Please excuse Carolynn,” Nicole said. “She’s a very busy woman. What questions do you have?”

“Is Carolynn in charge of the film festival?” Dean asked.

“Not directly, no,” Nicole said. “She’s close friends with the woman behind it, Summer Bloom. It’s Summer’s baby, she spent the past year trying to get it organized. Carolynn helped out now and again, but she’s more involved with her charity work than this.”

“Do charity workers lead a lot of sermons out here in Arizona?” Dean asked.

“God inspires many people to speak of him, Dean,” Nicole said.

“Is Summer here tonight?” Sam asked.

“No, I don’t believe so,” Nicole said. “There was an emergency with her granddaughter. She asked Carolynn to come in her place.”

“Do you have Summer’s number?” Sam asked. “I’d love to speak with her about the festival.”

“You’re not a creeper or anything, right?” Nicole asked.

“Only on Tuesdays,” Dean said with a grin.

Nicole raised her eyebrows at him. Sam elbowed Dean in the side.

“Ignore him,” Sam said. “No, I’m not a creeper. I was thinking of organizing something similar back home, and I wanted to pick her brain about her experience with the process.”

“Oh, Summer would love that,” Nicole said. She pulled out her phone and gave Sam the information.

They said their goodbyes and headed inside.

Thankfully, there were still a couple open seats a few rows from the screen. They’d hoped to be right in the front so they could react to the angel showing up faster, assuming he showed in the same spot just below the screen, but this would have to work.

Dean earned a few annoyed looks and rude comments from the other theater patrons as he shuffled toward the empty seat next to Sam with his arms overloaded with snacks and drinks. Sam looked up from his seat and rolled his eyes at Dean.

“I can’t believe you were serious about buying all that,” Sam said.

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?” Dean asked as he sat down and started shuffling things around.

Sam shook his head and looked at the screen where those pre-trailer movie trivia cards were going by.

“You’re lucky Cas can still keep you from having a heart attack,” Sam said.

Dean rolled his eyes and took a bite of his hot dog.

“You find anything yet?” Dean asked around his bite of food.

“Gross,” Sam said. After a moment he leaned closer to Dean and lowered his voice. He gestured at the front of the theater. In each corner there was a security guard. “Looks like someone hired some extra muscle for the evening.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. It looked like both of the men were armed. He turned to look around the theater. From where he was sitting, it didn’t look like there were any other guards. That didn’t mean he wasn’t missing them, though.

“Why would they hire armed guards for a film festival?” Dean asked. “We got someone important in the crowd here?”

“That or they’re worried this angel is connected to a potential spree killer or something,” Sam said. “We’ll have to be careful tonight.”

“Yeah, unless we want to end up shot by some trigger-happy rent-a-cops,” Dean said. “We could always flash our badges to them now.”

“And tell them what?” Sam asked. “The FBI is here to investigate the guy pretending to be an angel in public?”

“We could say he’s connected to another case,” Dean said.

Dean moved the rest of his food to the floor and started to stand up when he realized the people on either side of him and Sam were bent forward in their seats. Each had their hands clasped in prayer on the seatbacks in front of them. Whispered words of prayer were barely audible over the sound from the theater speakers around them.

Sam met Dean’s wide eyes with his own confused expression. They looked around the theater and saw a large portion of the audience were praying too.

“This seem weird to you?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded.

The lights in the theater dimmed. A murmur ran through the crowd and a voice came over the speakers. “And now, for our feature presentation.”

The trivia cards disappeared from the screen as the opening of the movie began.

Dean slumped back into his seat. “There goes that idea.”

A woman in the row behind them shushed Dean, making him roll his eyes once more.

It was a little weird to watch a movie about Robin Williams dying with the memory of his very real life death so fresh in Dean’s memory. He and Sam had spent many evenings in motels laughing at Robin’s movies, and neither of them had really been in the mood to watch them since the actor had passed.

 _What Dreams May Come_ was a depressing movie to watch when it first came out. One of the girls Dean was seeing at the time insisted they watch it in the theater together. Now, after the time he and Sam had both spent in Hell and Heaven, the movie hit too close to home. Dean didn’t bother being subtle about wiping his eyes after a while. He was glad Cas wasn’t here to watch the film’s interpretation of Heaven or Robin’s journey into Hell to save his wife’s soul. This movie wasn’t one he planned to add to their own angel movie marathon. Making them both depressed didn’t sound fun.

“Fuck that movie,” Dean said as the credits started to roll.

Sam hummed his agreement.

“If this angel is keeping to a schedule, he should show up any second now,” Sam said.

Dean nodded and fixed his attention on the space in front of the screen just a couple rows in front of them. A whisper went through the crowd. The man seated to Dean’s left folded his hands and started to pray again.

Dean and Sam shared a look.

Commotion from the back of the theater caught their attention. They stood up from their seats and turned. The angel had materialized on the steps at the back of the theater instead of the front this time.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said.

He and Sam moved to the aisle and started to make their way to the stairs leading to the back of the theater. A crowd of people begging forgiveness and holding outstretched hands toward the angel stood between them and the angel.

At the base of the stairs, the crowd grew thick and unmoving enough that the only way for Dean and Sam to get through was to make a scene. Movement on Dean’s right brought his attention to the security guards with guns approaching the crowd with wide, nervous eyes. It was probably best not to provoke anyone if they didn’t need to, Dean thought.

“Blasphemy,” the angel called out to the crowd. He gestured at the screen. “Heaven is chaos. Anarchy. Brothers and sisters without wings killing each other in your name. In the name of humanity. Not God’s. Blasphemy.”

The lights in the theater flickered bright, then brighter. Huge, blue-white wings stretched out from the angel’s back.

Dean stared in awe.

It looked like the angel was glowing with grace.

From where they were standing, Dean could make out the impression of the angel’s hair being dark and curly like a stereotypical cherub painting. His shoulders were broad. The glow from his grace made it hard to look at the details of him for too long, but there was something off about him.

Dean blinked hard and turned to Sam.

“Does that guy look see-through to you?” Dean asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said.

“Didn’t one of those posts on that flitter page you printed out say the angel was a ghost?” Dean asked.

“Twitter,” Sam said.

“Not the time, Sammy.”

Sam glared at Dean’s use of his childhood nickname. “Yes, someone said it looked like a ghost. But it’s not like the general public know what a ghost looks like.”

Dean waved a hand at the ranting angel preaching to the crowd of believers kneeling at his feet. He could make out the individual folds of the fabric lined walls behind the angel thanks to the overhead lights in the theater. The angel flapped his wings and rose into the air above the crowd. Dean could see the lights and speakers on the walls of the theater through the angel as the angel flew around.

“Guess what, Sam,” Dean said. “They may not know what a ghost looks like, but we do. And that? That looks like a fucking ghost.”

Sam rolled his eyes then turned to survey the theater around them. Dean patted the pockets of his jacket hoping that he’d left his EMF reader in one of them on his last hunt instead of putting it away properly. No dice.

“I don’t see any projectors facing that way or any mirrors,” Sam said. “Could be a hologram or something. Did you know they brought Tupac back from the dead for a concert with a hologram recently? I saw the video; it was cool.”

Dean stared at his brother.

Sam pressed his lips together.

“Anyway,” Dean said. “We should come back later, see if we can get this guy to show up for a private encore.”

“Didn’t you tell Cas we’d wait for him before investigating more?” Sam asked.

“He’ll get over it,” Dean said.

They gave up trying to fight their way up the stairs through the solid mass of believers dropping to their knees in supplication between them and the ghostly angel. The security guards were standing at the edges of the crowd looking back and forth from the angel to the crowd, each other and back again.

Dean pressed his lips together.

“God has abandoned us,” the angel called out. “We are all orphaned and lost.”

The lights flickered again and the angel disappeared.

Dean and Sam looked at each other. Sam raised his eyebrows.

“Okay,” Sam said, drawing out the word.

“Let’s get out of here and come back after hours to poke around,” Dean said. “Hopefully the rent-a-cops will be gone by then.”

“I agree,” Sam said then he led the way to the exit on the opposite side of the theater.


	4. Family Breakfast

Dean winced as he took his seat in the booth at a nearby diner the next morning.

“You sure you don’t want to go back to the motel to ice your back?” Sam asked. “I don’t think Mom and Cas would mind meeting us there.”

“I’m fine, Sam,” Dean said. The words may have slipped through gritted teeth, but that was only because he didn’t want to have this argument for the fourth time that morning. “It was your fault I didn’t see that last step in the theater last night. Can’t believe you blinded me with a fucking flashlight.”

Sam raised his eyebrows and picked up his menu.

Dean stared at him.

“What’s that face for?” Dean asked.

“What face?” Sam asked without looking up from the menu.

“Sam,” Dean said.

“There’s no face,” Sam said.

Dean rolled his eyes and started to look over his own menu. He should pick out some food for Cas too. He didn’t really eat food now that he was an angel again, but it was easier on the rest of them if they didn’t have to explain why their dorky friend only wanted coffee while the rest of them feasted.

Sam chuckled across the table.

Dean looked up at him.

“What?” Dean asked.

“You look like you’re translating something,” Sam said. “It’s just a diner menu, Dean.”

“Shut up,” Dean said.

“It must be my lucky day,” a man’s voice said. “Two gorgeous men seated in my section this early in the morning? I must have been a good boy in a past life.”

Dean looked up to find their waiter standing next to the table. He was in his mid-twenties and was one of those scrawny looking white guys that ended up looking more muscular and solid the closer you got to him. He wore thick, black-rimmed glasses that highlighted his amber eyes.

If Dean were here by himself, this was the kind of guy he’d be trying to get a phone number from. The kid looked like he could give the memory of Lisa a run for her money in the bendy sex department.

Dean swallowed.

Sam laughed and ducked his head.

The waiter clicked his pen open. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, honey.”

“No, uh,” Sam said. “You didn’t embarrass me.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“If you say so,” the waiter said. “My name is Ricky, and I’ll be your server this morning.”

Sam started ordering food for himself and their mom. When he was finished, Dean fought with his tongue and managed to fumble out an order of food for himself and for Cas. If the angel didn’t feel like eating today, then Dean could swap plates with him.

Ricky left after taking their orders and returned soon after with a carafe of coffee and four mugs. They thanked him, and he promised to have their food ready soon.

Dean’s eyes drifted over to the window facing the parking lot. Cas’s old truck and Mary’s Charger would be pulling in soon. Dean would need to look over the truck when he finally convinced Cas to come back to the bunker for longer than a shower and a few hours of stillness. Cas mentioned that the heater took a long time to heat up. Dean had ordered replacements for a few of the belts and miscellaneous filters shortly after Cas had gotten the truck. The last of them had finally arrived at their P.O. Box last week.

“You doing okay?” Sam asked.

Dean glanced at his brother before looking back out the window.

“I’m fine,” Dean said immediately. He caught himself in the lie and sighed. He took a sip of his coffee and settled back into the padded seat of the booth. “It’s been awhile since we’ve seen either of them.”

Sam’s expression softened. “It has.”

Sam’s phone made a noise signaling a new text message. Dean watched his brother pull his phone out to check the message. Sam’s expression melted into something even softer than it was before. Like the inside of a fresh out of the oven chocolate chip cookie, his features were practically gooey from whatever he read on his phone.

Dean reached across the table to try to snatch Sam’s phone, but Sam stretched his long ass arms away from Dean before he managed to do it.

“Nope,” Sam said. “This isn’t for you.”

“Who are you texting?” Dean asked.

“None of your business,” Sam said as he put his phone away.

“Bullshit,” Dean said. The secret video calls he could deal with. Sam’s dopey, I’ve got a crush on someone expressions he could tolerate, but this was getting out of hand. “Who was it? Was it Jody?”

Sam’s expression folded into one of disbelief and disgust. “Why the hell would I be texting Jody like that? You know what, no, don’t tell me. I don’t need to know how your brain works.”

Dean was about to respond when the bell above the diner’s front entrance chimed. Mary walked in with Cas following a moment later like he’d held the door open for her. Mary waved off the hostess and led the way to the booth where Dean and Sam were seated.

Cas met Dean’s eyes with a small smile. He looked uninjured and tired. Tension Dean didn’t know he was holding in melted from his shoulders.

Sam gave Dean a pointed look which Dean ignored.

The four of them exchanged good mornings and hellos. Mary slid onto the bench seat next to Dean, leaving the open spot diagonal from Dean next to Sam for Cas. Dean took a sip of his coffee to hide his disappointment about Cas not getting to sit next to him. Sam looked from Mary to Dean like he wanted to know if Dean wanted to have her switch seats. Dean shook his head at Sam.

“Coffee,” Mary said as she wrapped her hands around her mug and lifted it so she could drink. She hummed happily. “That’s not half bad.”

Cas took a sip from his own mug.

“We ordered for you guys,” Sam said. “Food should be out soon.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Mary said.

“I ordered you an omelet,” Dean said to Cas. “Peppers, bacon, cheese and eggs. It’ll be great.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said.

Dean grinned at him.

“So Sam,” Mary said. “What’s going on with this case? You mentioned you and Dean went back to the theater last night, but you didn’t say what happened.”

“You went back to the theater?” Cas asked as he stared at Dean. “What happened to waiting for us to get here?”

“It was fine,” Dean said.

“Did you find anything when you went back?” Cas asked.

“No,” Dean said. “Nothing more than what we saw last night when the movie finished. The angel didn’t show up again when we were there.”

“The angel did look like it might be a ghost though,” Sam said.

“We’re hunting a ghost angel,” Dean said with a grin. “A ghangel. Oh, or an anost. Hey, that almost sounds cool.”

“Dean,” Sam said.

“You’re right, ghangel sounds like gay angel,” Dean said. Sam scowled at Dean and Dean grinned back. “I’m trying to come up with a better name. Angel is a hard one to mash-up.”

“We don’t need a better name for the ghost angel,” Sam said.

“Of course we do,” Dean said. “We’re the first to discover them. It’s like a new species.”

“That’s not how--” Sam pressed his lips together. “Dammit, Dean.”

“I didn’t know angels could become ghosts,” Mary said loud enough to talk over Dean and Sam’s argument over the name.

“We can’t,” Cas said. “Not that I’ve ever heard of anyway.”

“You sure it wasn’t just a parlor trick?” Mary asked.

“We found no evidence that the ghost was a fake,” Sam said. “I thought it was a hologram or something for a minute, but there was nothing in the theater to make one.”

“No mirrors,” Dean said. He counted off with his fingers as he listed the things they didn’t find. “No smoke machines. No projectors beyond the one that should be there. There were traces of EMF though.”

“Did you find any ash wings?” Cas asked.

“No,” Dean said as he shook his head. “There wasn’t anything there suggesting that an angel had died there. At least not recently.”

Cas nodded and looked away.

“We were thinking we’d split up today,” Sam said. “I spoke with some of the people in line for the movie last night and got the information on the woman running the festival. Mom, I figured you and I could interview her. Dean and Cas can go talk to the families of the recently deceased around town. See if we can get a lead on who this angel is, or was.”

“Do you think Hannah missed other angels that didn’t want to return home?” Cas asked.

Dean shrugged.

“It’s worth looking into,” Dean said. “We’ve already run into a few others who didn’t follow the rules recently.”

“Good morning,” Ricky said as he arrived at the table with a tray full of food. He started sliding plates along the table, pausing to make sure he got each one to the right person. When he got to the last plate he looked at Cas with a salacious smile. “That must mean this omelet is for you, beautiful.”

Cas looked at Dean then at Ricky.

“I suppose it is,” Cas said.

Ricky set Cas’s plate down. Cas gave him a flirty smile that Dean had made him practice over and over again. Dean swallowed as regret swirled in his stomach over that. Somehow seeing Cas actually use that smile to flirt with someone else didn’t seem like such a good idea. Ricky was clearly affected by Cas’s flirting. He adjusted his glasses and ducked his head for a moment before straightening and addressing the table with a wide smile.

“Does anyone need a refill or anything else right now?” They all answered no. “Great. Well, my name is Ricky. Give me a holler if that changes.” Ricky looked down at Cas and gave him a shy, flirty smile. “I’ll be sure to check in with y’all soon.”

“Thank you,” Cas said giving Ricky a wide smile in return.

“Thanks,” Sam said.

Cas turned his attention to his coffee as Ricky walked away.

Dean narrowed his eyes and turned in his seat to watch Ricky leave. The waiter was swinging his hips as he walked. Any other time it would be mesmerizing, today it made Dean's stomach sour with something that tasted like jealousy.

“Let’s dig in,” Mary said. “I’d like to get to the motel to change before we start interviewing people.”

Dean winced as he straightened back out in his seat.

“Are you alright, Dean?” Cas asked.

“I’m fine,” Dean said as he started cutting into his food.

“He hurt his back last night when we went back to the theater,” Sam said.

Dean glared at him.

“What happened?” Cas asked.

Dean pointed at Sam with his fork.

“Sam blinded me with his flashlight, and I missed the last step on the stairs,” Dean said. “Landed on my ass.”

“And then you bitched about your back hurting all night,” Sam said. “I told him to stay behind at the motel to ice it today, but he refused.”

Cas stared at Dean with narrowed eyes.

“I’ll take a look at it after we leave,” Cas said.

“Thanks Cas,” Dean said with a soft smile.

All too soon, Ricky, the most cheerful and flamboyant waiter Dean had seen in years, returned to their table. He refilled their coffee mugs and started in with the small talk. Dean kept his mouth occupied by drinking his too hot coffee and tried to ignore Sam’s inquisitive looks.

“Are y’all locals or just passing through?” Ricky asked. The question was posed to the table at large, but Ricky only had eyes for Cas.

“We’re in town for business,” Cas said.

“What kind of business?” Ricky asked.

“Private business,” Dean said before he could catch himself.

Sam glared at him. Cas rolled his eyes at Dean then looked back at Ricky.

“Dean is very protective of our work,” Cas said. “We’re doing research on some of the local lore for a book.”

“That sounds fascinating,” Ricky said. “Let me know if you need another research partner.”

Dean drank his coffee and stared out the window.

“You want another refill before I go, handsome?” Ricky asked.

It took Dean a moment before he realized Ricky had addressed him.

“I, um, sure,” Dean said. He set his mug down on the table so Ricky could reach it.

Ricky winked at him. The amber color in his eyes was striking in the morning light coming in from the window.

“I wouldn’t mind helping you with your research either,” Ricky said.

“Uh, thanks,” Dean said. “You, yeah.”

Ricky smiled and walked away. This time Dean didn’t have to turn around to watch Ricky’s backside sway while he walked.

“Idiot,” Sam said under his breath.

“Shut up,” Dean said.

Out of the corner of Dean’s eye, he noticed Mary was staring at him with a puzzled frown on her face. He turned to meet her gaze.

“What’s up, mom?” Dean asked.

Mary pressed her lips together like Sam did when he was trying to suppress a smile.

“I was just remembering something,” Mary said. She looked back at her plate. “From when you were little. You’ve probably forgotten it, but it’s still fresh for me. I just got lost for a moment, sorry.”

“What were you remembering?” Sam asked.

“It’s just that name, Ricky,” Mary said. She turned to Dean. “Didn’t you have a friend named Ricky or Richie, or something like that in preschool?”

Dean wasn’t prepared to keep the shock off his face. He knew no matter how fast he’d schooled his features, for a moment it was all right there on his face.

“Uh,” Dean said. He tilted his head and started picking at the food on his plate. “I think so. I haven’t thought about preschool in years.”

Which was the truth.

Mary looked from Dean to Cas. Dean watched the gears in her head spinning like she was trying to work something out. Eventually, she shook her head and turned her attention to Sam.

“Dean had a lot of friends at that age. He was a sensitive little boy, but eager to get to know everyone he came across. It seemed like every day he had five new best friends,” Mary said. “But one day he came home to tell me all about this boy in class. That boy was the first friend Dean talked about regularly.”

“Did he now?” Sam asked with a grin on his face as he looked at Dean.

Dean’s smile froze on his face.

“Huh,” Dean said for lack of anything better to say. Never did he think he’d get the chance to experience the embarrassment of his mother bringing up his first crush on another guy. It was simultaneously mortifying and awesome. “Yeah, I think I remember bits and pieces about that.”

Dean stared at his food and hoped that the conversation would die before someone asked him to elaborate. Luckily, Sam was able to distract their mom with an unrelated question Dean didn’t really pay attention to.

 

_35 Years Earlier_

 

_Dean ran into the house as fast as his four-year-old legs could carry him._

_“Slow down, angel,” Mary called from somewhere behind him._

_Dean raced to the kitchen table and started pulling things out of his batman backpack. When he found what he was looking for he held it above his head like a trophy._

_“What’s gotten you so excited?” Mary asked as she strapped baby Sammy into his high chair next to the table._

_“Look, mom,” Dean said. He spread the paper he’d pulled from his backpack out on the table. The paint had dried on it days ago, but the whole thing was dark and crinkled in the spots where he’d used a lot of paint. “We got to bring home our paintings today.”_

_“Oh, that’s beautiful, angel,” Mary said as she studied his artwork. She pointed at the first human shaped blob on the left of the page. “Who is this?”_

_“That’s me,” Dean said. He pointed his chubby little four-year-old finger at the next figure. “And that’s Angela, she has a pet snake. This one is Johnny, he knows everything.”_

_“Everything, huh?” Mary asked. “That’s impressive for a four-year-old. Who is this one over here with the… fireworks around them?”_

_“That’s Richie,” Dean said. His voice went soft and he propped his chin on his hands while he looked at the painting. “He has bright green eyes like me and he can throw a baseball really far. He just moved here from Texas. That’s far, right mom?”_

_“That is far,” Mary said dutifully. “What’s on his arm here?”_

_Dean scowled at the page._

_“He has a broken arm. That’s his cast. It helps his arm get better,” Dean said. “He broke it riding a horse in Texas. I don’t like horses.”_

_“I see,” Mary said. “Well, I think your painting is beautiful. How about I hang it on the fridge so we can show it to your Dad when he gets home?”_

_“Okay!” Dean said._

_“Now go wash up for dinner,” Mary said._

 

_Present Day_

 

“Dean?” Cas asked. “Is everything alright?”

Dean blinked at him, his cheeks warmed when he realized he’d spaced out in a memory again. Something about this case was dredging up all kinds of shit.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I’m fine.”

“What else have you boys been up to since I left?” Mary asked.

Sam immediately jumped into explaining the research rabbit hole he’d lost himself in for the last week and a half. The four of them caught up while they finished eating. Mary told them about the werewolf she’d hunted in Utah before coming down to meet them in Arizona. Cas told them about the issues he’d had with the lead on Kelly Kline in New Mexico. She’d bought plane tickets to two different cities in two different regions for the same time. Cas was frustrated that he’d followed up on the wrong flight.

“There’s no guarantee she was on that other flight either,” Dean said.

“I suppose not,” Cas said.

His scowl was enough to tell Dean that Cas wouldn’t believe that unless he was able to check all possibilities himself. It was moments like this that Dean wished he could give some kind of comfort to offset the angel’s loss of his ability to fly like he used to. The best Dean could offer were shallow condolences and a pat on the shoulder. Fuck of a lot of help that was.

“We need to find her, though,” Cas said. “We’re running out of time.”

“We’ll find her,” Sam said.

“How are we going to handle today?” Mary asked.

“Sam got the number of the woman behind the film festival,” Dean said. “You two should meet with her and get a feel for whether this is a hoax or not. Cas will come with me. Sam and I looked through the obituaries from the last couple years for anyone who looked similar to the ghost angel we saw in the theater.”

“We figured it’d be a good idea to go at the case from a couple different ways,” Sam said. “Either it was actually an angel who showed up, or it was a hoax to promote the festival and raise money.”

“Or it’s really a ghost,” Dean said. “Whether it’s the ghost of an angel or a guy who liked to dress up as one we’ll figure out as we go.”

Mary and Sam left the diner first. Dean and Cas stayed behind to pay the bill. Dean wished he was surprised to see Ricky’s phone number scribbled on the back of the receipt when the waiter handed it to him. He folded the paper up and shoved it in his wallet. He’d burn it later.

“Let’s go, Cas,” Dean said.

Dean led the way out of the diner and into the parking lot. He smiled to himself when he saw Cas’s truck parked next to the Impala. It was a bit of an odd match, but they looked good together.

“Dean,” Cas said as they stopped between the vehicles.

Cas reached out and placed his hand on the small of Dean’s back. Dean’s heart leapt into his throat and stayed lodged there as he stared into Cas’s bright blue eyes. One deep breath from either of them would make their chests brush against each other.

“Cas?” Dean asked, his voice sounded like he’d been on a bender.

The familiar tingling warmth of angelic healing spread out from Cas’s palm, soothing the pinching ache in Dean’s back.

Dean closed his eyes. Of course.

It was some kind of comfort to know that he wasn’t the only coward when it came to doing anything about the tension between them.

“Is that better?” Cas asked as he pulled his hand away.

Dean nodded.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said. He stared at the angel with a lump in his throat. It would be so easy to lean in and pull him into a hug or a kiss. Or to reach out and take his hand. It was easier to do nothing, though. So nothing is what he did. He cleared his throat and took a step back. “Follow me to the motel.”


	5. Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agent name references:
> 
> Sam -- Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart  
> Mary -- Stevie Nicks

Sam called the woman behind the film festival and set up a meeting while Mary got cleaned up. He decided to work the writing research angle. The woman sounded intrigued and suggested they meet at a nearby cafe.

The cafe was only a couple blocks from the movie theater in the middle of the historic district in town. A poster advertising the festival hung on the wall just inside the glass door on the wall of the cafe. Art from what Sam assumed were local artists lined the walls.

An older woman with short, white blonde hair, gold rimmed eyeglasses, and red lipstick sat at a table near the coffee bar. Her back was straight. Her hands were wrapped around a large, white mug of coffee on the table in front of her. She was staring at the front door of the cafe. When she spotted Sam and Mary, she lifted one hand and waved at them both.

Sam and Mary waved back and approached the woman’s table.

“Summer Bloom?” Sam asked. “Are you the woman behind the film festival?”

“It’s Summer Bloom-Miller, actually,” Summer said as she reached out to shake their hands. “I shorten it for business purposes, but yes, I am the organizer for the film festival.”

Summer was wearing a white silky blouse that created a stark contrast between the deep, unnatural tan of her skin. Her skin reminded Sam of the aged leather look some people who were naturally pale got when they spent decades of their life tanning. Around her neck she wore a large bronze, crystal, and turquoise cross.

Sam smiled at her.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice,” Sam said.

“It’s fine,” Summer said. “I had to be downtown today for a meeting about the festival this morning anyway. I must admit, I’m still not sure how the festival will tie into a book about local lore, but if you think it’ll help you I’m more than happy to answer whatever questions you have.”

“We appreciate it,” Mary said.

“Where did you get the idea for the festival?” Sam asked.

“Well, I was in church, and we were discussing all the devil worshipping in movies and television going on these days. Did you know there is a popular book series they’re looking to make into a tv show where two brothers make deals with demons and cavort around with monsters?” Summer shook her head to show her disapproval. “I remember when I found out my granddaughter had one of those Unnatural books, or whatever they’re called. I made her leave it outside on the porch because my house is no place for devil worship.”

“Yeah, those books are awful,” Sam said nodding his head. “Hopefully that tv show idea won’t go anywhere.”

Mary looked at Sam with a questioning expression. Sam cleared his throat and sipped his coffee.

“We—my good friend Carolynn and I—are organizing a protest,” Summer said. “I’ll be donating a portion of the proceeds from the festival to fly us out to the studio that’s trying to put that wicked show on the air.”

“Good idea,” Sam said.

Mary continued to look at Sam strangely for a moment before turning her attention back to Summer.

“Do you have anyone helping you with the festival?” Mary asked.

“Like the man who runs the theater? He did help me get permission to show the films and contacted the company to make up the posters.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Was there anyone else? Maybe someone new at church with a larger than life presence or someone who visited you in a dream? Someone who called themselves an angel or a god?”

Summer stared at him for a moment then started to laugh. She laughed loud and vibrant. Sam shuffled in his seat when he realized how much attention her laughter was earning from nearby tables. Mary glanced at Sam, then back at Summer.

“That was a serious question,” Mary said.

Summer’s laughter died down, and she dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a napkin. She looked from Mary to Sam and leaned back in her seat.

“Really?” Summer asked. Her eyes widened, an expression amplified by the glasses she wore. She cleared her throat and nodded slowly. “Well, it’s been interesting meeting you both, but I believe I have another engagement to get to. Best of luck with your research.”

“Please,” Sam said. “Did someone approach you with this idea? We need to know.”

“I don’t know what kind of relationship you have with God,” Summer said as she met and held Sam’s gaze. “But He and his angels don’t _actually_ talk to us directly.” She flicked her attention to Mary for a moment then back to Sam. “If you’re having conversations with angels and God, maybe you should try speaking to someone with more… education on the subject than myself. A doctor, perhaps.”

Sam gave her a tight smile.

“You’re right,” Sam said, giving up the fight. “Sometimes I get a little mixed up with these things, because it really feels like God’s helped me out of a few really difficult situations personally.”

“That’s nice,” Summer said. “It’s good to have faith that strong, Sam. Now, I really must be going.”

The three of them exchanged goodbyes as Summer gathered her things, and she waved at them before rushing out the cafe door.

“That went well,” Sam said with a sigh.

It’d been awhile since he and Dean had come across someone who’d called either of them crazy to their faces for asking questions. The time spent between those encounters usually helped Sam feel like he could pretend to be normal when interacting with strangers. Interviews going south like this always left him feeling like he was wearing a nametag that read ‘freak’ on his lapel.

He pulled out his cellphone. There was one person he knew who could understand how he felt. Maybe he’d make up some excuse to leave the table so he could text in peace.

“We should call Dean and Cas,” Mary said, breaking through Sam’s thoughts. “See if we can split the list of families to interview.”

Sam checked the time; it was still mid-morning. Only an hour had passed since they’d separated from his brother and the angel. Normally, Sam would jump at the opportunity to be more productive, find some way he could help solve the case faster. Interviews like the one he’d just been through always left him on edge.

Dean really needed some time alone with Cas. Whether his brother actually took advantage of that alone time and _did_ anything about his obvious feelings for the angel was another matter entirely.

Sam had stopped holding his breath for that to happen years ago. That didn’t mean he didn’t do what he could to give them time together anyway. It kept them both on a more even keel. The world was an easier place to live in when Dean and his angel weren’t fighting with each other.

“It’s still too early,” Sam said. “Let’s give them a bit more time to try to find something.”

“Why?” Mary asked. “Our lead went nowhere and they have more than enough people to interview. We can cover more ground quicker if we split the load.”

Sam frowned.

He wasn’t sure how to explain his motives for wanting to leave Dean and Cas alone for a while to his mom.

Sam had spent more than enough time living with Dean in situations that gave both of them little to nothing in the way of privacy. He’d suspected since he was a young teenager that his older brother liked guys too, but he’d never had real proof. Still, suspicions and instincts concerning Dean’s feelings about Cas weren’t reason enough to out Dean to their mom. Or anyone. It wasn’t Sam’s place.

“Is there some other reason you have for not wanting to interrupt them?” Mary asked.

Sam swallowed.

_20 Years Earlier_

_Thirteen-year-old Sam Winchester was sprawled out on a tacky looking, itchy bedspread on one of the two double beds in the motel room he was stuck in for the next week. Dean and their dad had left three days ago on a hunt. Sam had flipped through all the channels on the tv, fought with the clock radio to find a decent radio station, one that didn’t play classic rock, and caught up on doing all the lessons in the history textbook he’d inadvertently stolen from the high school he’d left two months ago._

_He was bored out of his mind._

_Dean and John weren’t due back for at least another few days._

_Sam sat up on the bed and looked at his duffel bag sitting on one of the wobbly chairs surrounding the little motel room table. The duffel used to belong to Dean, but John bought him a new one at an army surplus for Dean’s eighteenth birthday a few weeks back. So Sam inherited the beat up, hand-me-down bag from his older brother._

_Dean had been so excited about getting something new to carry his things in, he hadn’t been very thorough when he cleaned it out before giving it to Sam. He’d forgotten to remove the magazines he’d kept between the inner and outer lining of the bag._

_Sam cleared his throat and moved across the room to check out the peephole in the door. He didn’t see any movement outside. A quick glance from different angles through the hotel room curtain confirmed that neither his dad or his brother had gotten back early and Sam wasn’t likely to get interrupted._

_Still, years of paranoia and having zero privacy made him bring the whole duffel bag and not just the magazines with him into the motel room bathroom. He turned the flimsy lock and took a deep breath._

_Before he had the chance to overthink things too much, he opened the bag and pawed through his clothes to get at the tear in the lining. His fingers grabbed hold of the glossy pages of the magazines and pulled them free._

_There were only two magazines and they were pretty tame, but that didn’t matter to Sam. It was the idea of it all that got him going. He’d flipped through the top magazine a couple times already, so he set it on the bathroom counter and opened the second. A couple images caught his attention right away in the first few pages._

_Eager to see what else the magazine had in store for him, he flipped through the next few pages quickly. A handful of loose pages fell from the magazine to the floor. Sam tilted his head as he looked down to see what fell._

_Blood rushed to his cheeks and his heart hammered in his ears. He couldn’t clearly see all of the pictures that had fallen what he could see made his eyes widen. Why would Dean have pictures of guys stuffed in the middle of his old skin mags?_

_A heavy knock on the bathroom door made Sam nearly have a heart attack where he stood._

_“Sammy?” John’s voice called through the door. “Are you in there? Open up.”_

_Sam met his own wide-eyed expression in the mirror. Why was his dad back so early? How did he miss the sound of the door opening? Or the rumble of the Impala’s exhaust._

_“Just a second,” Sam said back. Nerves made his stomach twist and flip._

_He scrambled to gather up the magazines and the loose pages. There wasn’t time to make sure they were tucked back in the lining, so he settled for stuffing them in the bag under his jeans. He flushed the toilet and washed his hands while he tried to calm his breathing down._

_“Sam, hurry up,” John said as Sam turned the flimsy lock once more and pulled the door open._

_“Hey, dad,” Sam said. “I thought you guys weren’t coming back for another couple days?”_

_John stared at him with narrowed eyes. He looked at the duffel Sam had wrapped up in his scrawny, barely-a-teenager arms._

_“Dean’s handling it for the night,” John said. “I came back for something I left in the supply bag here that we need for the case.”_

_“Cool,” Sam said as he carefully moved past his dad and put his duffel back on the chair._

_“Why’d you need your whole duffel bag in the bathroom, Sammy?” John asked._

_“I was gonna take a shower,” Sam said._

_John nodded._

_Sam melted into another one of the chairs when the bathroom door closed behind his dad. Moments like this made him wish even harder that his life was normal. That he had a bedroom to himself where he could hide away from the world and just… be._

_Sam rested his forehead on the table and blew out a long breath._

_“Sam,” John said in a tone that felt like nails hammering into Sam’s spine as John exited the bathroom. “You wanna try explaining what you were doing in the bathroom again?”_

_Sam turned in the chair._

_John was holding up a single, glossy magazine page._ Shit _, Sam thought,_ I missed one _. John crossed the room and slammed it on the table next in front of Sam. He braced himself on the back of Sam’s chair with one hand and the table with his other._

_The magazine page was from some kind of expensive clothing ad. It showed two guys in tight, low-slung jeans. They were bare-chested and ripped. The guy in the back had his arm thrown around the other guy’s shoulders. They were looking at each other and grinning like they were both in on some kind of private joke._

_“What the hell is this?” John asked._

_For less than a split second, Sam thought about telling his dad the truth. That the picture belonged to Dean. That it was something Sam had accidentally inherited along with his hand-me-down duffel bag._

_But the memory of all the times Dean had stood between John—who’d always towered over both brothers—and Sam was loud in the forefront of Sam’s mind. The number of those moments where Dean stood up and ended up knocked down with bruises forming beneath his freckled skin gave Sam the strength he needed to be the one standing up this time._

_Sam looked John in the eye._

_“Is this yours?” John asked._

_“Yes, sir,” Sam said._

_He braced for John’s fist. His open palm. His boot. Hell, Sam was prepared to be kicked out in the middle of a town he couldn’t remember the name of with nothing but the five dollars in his pocket and a hand-me-down duffel bag._

_He wasn’t prepared for the disgust and disappointment that crossed over his dad’s face. He wasn’t prepared for how loud the magazine page was when it crumpled into a tight ball in John’s fist._

_He wasn’t prepared for the silence._

_John didn’t say anything that night. He grabbed what he’d come back for in the back up supplies bag and left with one last disappointed look at Sam._

_From that day forward, neither of them mentioned the encounter again, but things were never the same. John never looked at Sam the same after that. It became more and more obvious that John saw Sam as the weaker brother. Not just because he was the youngest, though that was part of it, but Sam knew a larger part of it was because of that magazine page._

_None of the arguments he and John got into over the years or the moments when he’d gritted his teeth through hot tears when John refused to trust him made Sam regret what he did. Dean would never know it, but Sam knew he’d saved his brother from a worse fate than the cold shoulder from their dad. Sam had no doubt his dad would have done much, much worse to Dean if he’d caught him with the magazine instead of Sam._

_It hurt, but it was worth it._

_Present Day_

Sam pulled out his tablet and powered it on.

“Dean’s been chomping at the bit to work a case for weeks now,” Sam said. “The least I can do is let him interview a few people while I try to see if there’s another angle we can work in the meantime.”

“Whatever you say,” Mary said before taking another sip of her coffee.

Sam did his best to ignore Mary’s studying look as he worked his way through the different research databases he had set up on the tablet. Times like this—with Mary’s impatience and black and white view of the world—reminded him a lot of Dean when they were younger and just starting to hunt together after Jess died. Ignoring his mom only worked for about five minutes, another sign that Dean took after Mary in a lot more ways than either brother had anticipated without her there while they were growing up.

“Are Dean and Cas together?” Mary asked.

Sam froze.

“What do you mean by together?” Sam asked. He stared at the tablet screen. The cursor blinked in the text box where he’d stopped typing mid-word.

“Look,” Mary said. “I know I’m a woman of a different time. And the world today is so much different than the one I’m used to, but I love you boys. I may not understand you or agree with you, but I love you.”

“We know you do,” Sam said as he looked away from the tablet screen and settled back into his chair. He looked at Mary, at the lines of hurt and confusion on her face.

“Then why is Dean hiding his relationship from me?” Mary asked.

“His relationship?” Sam asked. Realization dawned and his eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, you mean his relationship with Cas?”

“My son has feelings for another man or angel or whatever and he’s hiding it from me,” Mary said. “Like I said, I don’t understand you boys, but doesn’t he know that I’d support him?”

“Mom, just hold on a second,” Sam said. He looked down at the tabletop between them while he tried to gather his thoughts into words. Carefully choosing his words. “Dean’s relationship with Cas is complicated. I don’t think they’ve actually figured out exactly what they mean to each other, and I don’t know if they ever will.” Sam looked Mary in the eye. “But it’s none of our business. I mean, it’s great that you want to be supportive, and I’m sure if they ever figure out their deal with each other, Dean will really appreciate it.”

Sam looked away.

“Growing up the way we did…” Sam shook his head. “Dean didn’t get a lot of time to figure himself out. Neither of us did; that’s part of why I went to Stanford. Dean didn’t get that chance, and Dad made it pretty clear what he expected of us. And especially of Dean. So, yeah, he has a complicated relationship with his best friend, and I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to let himself fall in love with someone—anyone—let alone act on that love. But I’m not going to push him on it and you shouldn’t either.”

Mary’s frown deepened. She opened her mouth to speak, but commotion from a couple of college kids settling down at a nearby table interrupted her.

“I’m telling you, it was a body,” said the first college kid. She had dark hair and a deep, natural tan. She wore a sweatshirt with the local college’s logo on it. “It was all burnt up and gross.”

“I can’t believe someone torched a guy in our town,” the second kid said. Her blonde hair swished over her tattooed shoulders as she shook her head in disbelief.

“He wasn’t fully torched,” the first one said. “It was just his eyes somehow. Grossest, most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen in my _life_.”

Sam approached the college kids and pulled out his FBI badge.

“Hi there,” Sam said. Both of the college kids stared up at him with wide eyes, clutching their cups of coffee like teddy bears in the dark while staring down the monster in their closet. “I’m Agent Wolfgang with the FBI. I heard you two talking about a dead body. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about it?”

The girls exchanged sideways glances then the blonde one nodded at Sam. He pulled out a chair from their table and sat down.

“I’m Jenny,” the blonde girl said. “This is Sarah, she found the body.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sam said. He turned to Sarah. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Sarah pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her palms.

“I’m on the baseball team at school and every morning I go for a jog from the house Jenny and I rent downtown over to the park and back,” Sarah said. “This morning when I got to the park it felt… weird. Which, I know, sounds crazy, but it’s true.”

“You’d be surprised what doesn’t sound crazy to me anymore,” Sam said.

Sarah gave him a half smile and nodded. “There’s a wash that runs through the park.”

“A wash?” Sam asked.

“It’s like a creek, but bigger,” Jenny said. “During monsoon season in the summer washes fill up really quick and tend to flood over. If you get stuck in one during a storm, you’re likely to get washed away in a flash flood.”

“That’s… creative,” Sam said. “Okay, so tell me about the wash. Is that where you found the body?”

“Yeah,” Sarah said. “I like to take a mid-jog break under the trees in the park. Like I said, the whole space felt weird this morning, so I was looking around more than usual trying to see if the javelina were still out or something.”

“What’s a javelina?” Sam asked.

“Wild boars with big tusks,” Jenny said holding her fingers up in front of her mouth to mimic the tusks. “They’re mostly harmless, but they’re big and travel in packs and if they think you’re there to mess with their babies they’ll charge at you.”

“Yeah, and it’s scary as hell when they do,” Sarah said.

“Well if you didn’t lead us stumbling down an alley after the bar that night, we wouldn’t have bothered them while they were eating and they never would have chased us like they did,” Jenny said.

Sarah rolled her eyes. She looked at Sam and pointed her thumb at Jenny.

“This one decides she wanted to go on a pub crawl for our one year anniversary last month,” Sarah said. “I cut her off at one a.m. because I knew she’d be miserable with her hangover the next morning and I had still had a paper to write. She knows I’m not that good with directions, especially at night, but she insisted she knew where we were going. So that’s how we ended up in the same alley as a little herd of javelinas.”

“ _And_ the drunk frat guys,” Jenny added.

“Those dickheads were throwing empty beer bottles at the poor little javelinas. That’s why the herd charged at us.” She turned to look at Jenny with narrowed eyes. “Worst anniversary date, ever.”

Jenny threw her arms around Sarah’s shoulders. She tilted her head to the side and grinned. “I’m so lucky you love me.”

Sarah snorted. “Yeah you are.”

They exchanged a quick kiss.

Sarah reached up to tangle her fingers with Jenny’s on her shoulder, then looked back at Sam. “Where was I?”

“You were telling me that something had you spooked at the park this morning,” Sam said.

“Right,” Sarah said. “Anyway, I saw something in the bushes. At first I thought it was some garbage or someone’s bag that they forgot. But, when I got closer, I realized it was so not that.”

“You said the body was burned?” Sam asked.

“Kind of,” Sarah said. She chewed on her bottom lip while Jenny rubbed the shoulder opposite their joined hands. “It was like his eyes were burnt out. How does that even happen?”

“That’s my job to figure out,” Sam said, like he didn’t have any suspicions of how something like that could happen. Let alone seen it happen first hand many times over. “Was there anything else about the body that stood out to you?”

Sarah shook her head once. “Uh, no, I basically got away from it as quick as I could and called in an anonymous tip to 911. I’m not the kind of person who goes poking around dead bodies.”

Sam pulled out a business card and handed it over. “Call me if you think of anything else?”

“Sure,” Sarah said.

“And I’ll need directions to the park where you found the body before you go,” Sam said.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam and Mary stood in the middle of the park Sarah directed them to. The area was swarming with cops like every other crime scene Sam had visited over the years. Unlike many of the other crime scenes he’d been to, this one had a head detective who was more than happy to have agents from the FBI show up offering to help.

“Detective Baum,” Sam said to the head detective in question. “What have you guys found so far?”

“Honestly, Agent Wolfgang? A whole lot of nothing,” Detective Baum said. “Naked dead guy with his eyes burned out, and so far no weapons, fingerprints, or footprints explaining how he got to where he was found.”

“Were there any other witnesses?” Mary asked.

“I’m afraid not, Agent Nicks,” Detective Baum said. “Other than the anonymous caller who reported the body, we’ve found no one else.”

“Mind if we take a look at the body?” Sam asked. “It fits the M.O. of one of my longtime cases.”

“Sure man, we could use the help on this one,” Detective Baum said. He called off his team and cleared some space for Sam and Mary to approach the body.

They squatted on the other side of the bush where the body lay partially submerged in the shallow wash. Only the victim’s legs were in the bush with his left foot exposed to the side where Sarah must have seen him. The corpse’s hair was damp, strands of it clung to his forehead framing his eyes like macabre curlicues. Deep, charred black pits filled the spaces where his eyes used to be.

“You know what did this, don’t you?” Mary asked.

“It’s a smiting,” Sam said. He glanced at Mary, then back at the body. “An angel kill.”

“ _This_ is an angel kill?” Mary asked. “You mean like…”

Sam cleared his throat. “Like Cas? Yeah.”

“I had no idea they could be so dangerous,” Mary said. “I mean, I read John’s journal and looked over the notes you guys made, but this is… I don’t know what this is.”

“Smitings like this have saved mine and Dean’s lives a bunch of times,” Sam said, he met Mary’s eyes before continuing. “Cas has saved us many times by smiting people.”

Mary’s cheek twitched while she clenched her teeth, but eventually she nodded. “Is that what you think happened here? An angel protecting someone.”

“I don’t know what happened here,” Sam said. “But, in our experience, there aren’t that many angels who actually try to protect humans like Cas does. We haven’t met _any_ other angels like Cas. We need to find out who this guy was, see if it’ll help us find the angel who killed him.”

Before leaving the crime scene, Sam checked in with Detective Baum and got access to the preliminary case files. He sent those and an early news report via text to Cas to see if the angel recognized anything.

First a weird angel ghost sighting and now a smiting. What was going on in this town?


	6. Obituaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agent name references:
> 
> Dean -- Duncan Jones a.k.a. David Bowie  
> Cas -- Henry Rollins

Three hours after leaving the diner, Dean parked the Impala down the street from their last obituary lead. Cas was in the passenger seat, getting more and more frustrated with each fruitless interview.

“Last one for the day,” Dean said. “After this we’ll grab some food then call Sam and Mom. Maybe they’ve gotten further than we have.”

“I hope so,” Cas said. He glared at the list of names in his hand. “Talking to people is exhausting.”

Dean grinned.

“Cheer up, sunshine,” Dean said. Cas turned his glare on Dean. Dean’s smile widened, and he patted Cas’s shoulder. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can stop stretching your people skills beyond their limits.”

They walked down the sidewalk toward the last house on their list. Every few steps, their hands brushed against one another. The ache in Dean’s chest from their phone call the night before returned. He watched Cas from the corner of his eye. If the angel felt anything similar from their touch, he didn’t let it reflect on his face.

Dean shook his head and made his way up the front steps to ring the doorbell.

The man who opened the door had sandy blond hair and a scraggly beard that reminded Dean a little bit of the first time he’d met Chuck.

“Scott Allen?” Dean asked.

The man straightened his posture and looked over Dean and Cas.

“That’s me,” Scott said. “Who are you?”

Dean and Cas pulled out their FBI badges.

“Agents Jones and Rollins,” Dean said. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about a friend of yours who recently passed away. A Mr. Dillon Bonner?”

Scott’s eyebrows raised. He looked over their badges, then opened the door wide enough for Dean and Cas to go inside.

“Come in,” Scott said. “Can I get you guys something to drink? I think the coffee I made this morning is still fresh enough.”

“Coffee would be wonderful,” Cas said after giving Dean a sideways glance.

They'd had an argument about whether Cas should accept and consume whatever the people they were interviewing offered. Dean explained it was polite to do so and that taking care of others helped some people grieve. Cas still wasn't a fan of needlessly eating food, as he repeatedly bitched at Dean about between interviews, but he had a soft spot for coffee. A soft spot he seemed to enjoy indulging now that he had permission to do so.

“I’ll take a coffee, too,” Dean said. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Scott said as he made his way to the kitchen right off the entryway to the house. “Sorry about the mess. My ex-wife seems determined to take anything and everything remotely useful in the divorce.”

Dean gave Cas a wide-eyed, raised-eyebrow look when Scott’s back was turned. Cas shook his head.

Scott turned around with a mug of coffee in each hand. He handed the first to Dean.

“Relationships can be challenging,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear you’re going through a difficult time.”

Scott paused with his arm part way stretched out toward Cas, his head tilted to the side.

“Something wrong?” Dean asked.

Scott’s throat bobbed.

“Sorry,” Scott said with a shake of his head. He handed Cas the mug of coffee and turned to grab another for himself from the counter. “The way you speak, Agent Rollins. It reminds me of Dillon.”

“Oh,” Cas said. “I…”

“It’s fine. I miss him. It’s strange the little, random things that remind me of him these days,” Scott said. He shrugged and ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Let’s go sit down. I’m afraid I only have a cheap card table and folding chairs to offer, but it’s better than the floor. What do you want to know about Dillon?”

“How did he die?” Dean asked as he settled into an uncomfortable folding chair. He took a sip of his coffee and avoided Cas's sideways glare.

Scott raised his eyebrows as he settled into the seat across from Dean.

“You cut right to the chase, don’t you?” Scott asked.

“It makes my life easier,” Dean said.

Scott nodded.

“He was in a motorcycle accident about six months ago,” Scott said. “He was on his way back to Prescott from Phoenix. The highways between the two cities don’t have street lamps, they’re mostly high speed and have a lot of blind corners. The truck driver insists he only looked down for a second, but it was long enough.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Cas said. “Did you… Have you been past the part of the highway where he died?”

“Fuck no,” Scott said. His hands trembled around his mug of coffee. The index and middle finger on his right hand twitched like he was reaching for a cigarette that wasn’t there. “I should have, you know? But there was no way I could do it. Maybe one day I’ll be able to, but part of me is hoping the house will sell before I work up the courage to do it so I can move across the country and be done with all of this.”

“How did you and Dillon meet?” Dean asked.

“In Iraq,” Scott said. “We were in the same unit. Dillon was our medic. He saved my life more times than I can count.” He cleared his throat and toyed with his coffee mug. “And in the end I wasn’t there to save him when he needed it.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t blame you,” Cas said. “You can’t carry that burden with you forever.”

Scott stared at Cas with glassy eyes.

“Why does the FBI care?” Scott asked. “Was there something more to his death than what the police told me?”

“There might be,” Cas said. “Did Dillon have any enemies?”

Scott’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile.

“What soldier doesn’t have at least one enemy out there?” Scott asked. “There was no one local that I know of. His foreign enemies would have no way to track him down if they wanted him dead.” Scott drained his coffee and set it back down on the table. He fidgeted with the handle for a bit before continuing. “And Ashley, my ex, didn’t start to really hate him until after he died. When he was alive they were almost as close as he and I were. She even used to joke that she’d marry him if something happened to me.”

“What changed after he died?” Dean asked.

Something between a sob and a laugh slipped from Scott’s lips. He met Dean’s gaze with watery eyes.

“After he died I lost myself. I’ve always struggled with depression, but the months immediately after were the blackest I’ve ever been through. It didn’t take her long to realize I’d loved him.” Scott shook his head once like he was berating himself. “That I was _in love_ with him. She said she wouldn’t compete with a ghost and then she got a lawyer.”

Dean blinked.

“Ouch,” Dean said.

“She was my high school sweetheart. We were engaged before I left for bootcamp with the promise that I’d come back to marry her. We got married while I was on leave after my second tour. Dillon was my best man, and he was the foxhole love of my life. The more I tried to avoid feeling anything for him, the harder it was to ignore.”

“Wait, if you were in love with the guy, why did you get married to her?” Dean asked.

Scott rolled his eyes.

“Clearly you’ve never been a closeted bisexual man, Agent Jones,” Scott said. “We got together young, and her mother is a born again Christian who never liked me or approved of Ashley’s choices in life. Us getting married had as much to do with getting wrapped up in the whirlwind of young love as it did saving ourselves from outside forces.”

“Do you think she could have found out you and Dillon were something more than friends before his accident?” Dean asked.

“Something more?” Scott tilted his head.

“That you were, you know.” Dean looked at Cas for help.

“Did your wife find out that you and your friend were sleeping together before he died?” Cas asked.

Dean pressed his lips together and blinked at Cas. This is what he got for expecting the angel to be gentle with someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a grieving widower.

“I never cheated,” Scott said. The muscles in his jaw bulged as he stared Cas down. “I loved him. I will continue to love him until my last breath, but it never went anywhere. We never kissed or touched or anything. He tried to get me to see reason, to fight for the feelings he knew I had, but I couldn’t. I just… couldn’t.”

“I understand,” Dean said.

Cas stood up. His folding chair squeaked loudly over the tile floor.

“I need a moment,” Cas said before making his way to the front door and ducking outside. Dean watched him go with a lump in his throat and a twist in his chest.

Scott grunted.

“Maybe you do know what it’s like, Agent,” Scott said as he looked from the door to Dean.

“Maybe,” Dean said with a tight smile. Dean finished off his coffee and forced his thoughts back to the case. “Can you tell me a little more about Dillon? What kind of person was he? Was he religious?”

Scott rolled his bottom lip through his teeth.

“Dillon had a… complicated relationship with religion and God,” Scott said. “He was a believer, but his belief was very pessimistic and lost. One time he got drunk while we were on leave and ranted for an hour about God abandoning us and how following orders was too difficult and cold blooded sometimes.”

“Did he have a temper?” Dean asked.

Scott shook his head.

“Not really,” He said. “He always had a really tight hold on his emotions.”

“Was he from Arizona?” Dean asked. “Did he grow up near here?”

“No, the only reason he came here was because of me. Dillon always insisted he was from everywhere and when you’re from ‘everywhere’ you don’t really have anywhere to go home to when you’re done fighting in a war. So, he came home with me,” Scott said. His expression grew distant and fond. “When he wanted to be a pain in the ass, which was often, he’d tell people they should ask him _when_ he was from, not where. He was a history nerd and he’d tell me that he felt really out of place in the modern age. One of those old soul kinds of people, you know?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, thinking of Cas. “I know the type.”

Cas came back into the house. His expression was blank in a way that reminded Dean of the first few months after they’d met. It was Cas's version of a protective mask. It was the face of the heavenly soldier following orders from on high. Dean wanted nothing more than to wipe that look off his face forever.

Dean turned away.

“Do you have a picture of Dillon?” Cas asked Scott.

“Yeah, I have some in the other room,” Scott said.

Scott stood up from the table and led them to the living room. On the far wall was a fireplace with a few framed pictures on the mantel. There was a large gap or two where Dean assumed Scott used to keep pictures from his marriage. Scott picked up a frame near the center of the collection and passed it to Cas.

“That’s one of the both of us right after we got back to Arizona,” Scott said. “Ashley took that picture downtown outside an ice cream parlor. He’d never been to one before.”

Dean looked over Cas's shoulder at the picture. Scott was clean shaven with shorter blond hair, a deeper tan and a smile that stretched from one ear to the other. He had an arm thrown around the shoulders of another man who was looking sideways at Scott with a slightly sad smile that seemed somehow familiar to Dean. Dillon’s hair was dark and curled around his forehead and ears. His shoulders were broader than Scott’s, but the way he curled under the other man’s arm made him seem gentle, small.

The ghost in the theater had appeared far across the room from where Sam and Dean sat, but Dean was sure the ghost they were looking for belonged to Dillon Bonner.

Cas looked at Dean for confirmation. Dean nodded.

“May we get a copy of this?” Cas asked. He pulled out his cellphone and held it up to Scott. “I’d like to take a picture for reference.”

“Uh, sure,” Scott said. “Whatever will help.”

Cas snapped a picture with his phone. Dean smiled to himself while he thought about how far Cas had come in terms of understanding the human world. Cas handed the picture back to Scott. He traced a finger over Dillon’s image in the frame then put it back on the mantel. His fingers trailed along the frame for a moment before he dropped his hand to hang at his side.

“Is there anything else I can help you guys with?” Scott asked after he’d composed himself.

“There’s a film festival focusing on popular movies with angels and Heaven going on downtown this month,” Cas said. “Are you familiar with the festival?”

“I think I saw a flyer for it at the coffee shop,” Scott said. “What does it have to do with Dillon’s death though?”

“We have reason to believe someone is posing as Dillon or using his image to either disrupt the festival or draw more attention to it,” Cas said.

“They’re posing as him?” Scott said. “But he’s dead. Prescott may be growing, but it’s still very much a small town. Someone would notice if one of the war heroes who’d died came back to life and started watching movies.”

“He’s not really watching them,” Dean said. “Not exactly.”

“What are you saying?” Scott asked. “Is there a chance he’s still alive out there?”

“No,” Cas said. “Dillon is, to the best of our knowledge, dead. But someone or something is posing as Dillon’s ghost and using the film festival to preach to the crowd.”

Scott stared at them.

“Dillon’s ghost,” Scott said. He rubbed at his browbone and started pacing. After a moment, his hand dropped and he looked at them with an exacerbated expression.  “Are you trying to tell me the FBI investigates ghosts now? This isn’t the X-Files. Who are you people?”

Dean held up a hand. “Look, what my partner is trying to say—.”

“Did Dillon have a fondness for angels or angelic symbolism?” Cas asked.

Scott stopped pacing. His expression shuttered and his posture straightened. He looked over Cas's shoulder like he was studying something on the wall then met Cas's eyes.

Dean glanced at the spot Scott had looked at and noticed a foreign light coming from behind something on the mantel. He took a step closer and saw that it was a sigil. A small one that he didn’t recognize, but it was glowing with grace-blue light.

“What did you just say?” Scott asked.

“Take it easy,” Dean said.

Scott ignored him and continued staring at Cas.

“Did Dillon ever associate with angels in any way?” Cas asked.

“Get out of my house,” Scott said.

“Hey now,” Dean said. “We’re just trying to get infor—”

Scott lifted his shirt pulled out a gun from an inner pants holster Dean hadn’t seen then pointed it at Cas. Dean had his gun out and pointed at Scott before he realized he was doing it.

“I knew there was something familiar about you. That sigil getting tripped just confirmed it for me. _Angel_ ,” Scott said. His words dripped with venom and he made no moves to show he even noticed Dean’s gun pointed at him. “Dillon showed me how to melt down an angel blade to make bullets.” He tapped the side of his gun with his index finger without taking his eyes off Cas. “I’ve never gotten the chance to find out if they kill your kind or if they’ll just hurt like a bitch. If you don’t get your feathery ass off my property before I count to ten we’ll get to find out together.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to do that,” Dean said. His voice was cold, but his blood ran hellfire hot in his veins. If this son of a bitch thought he was going to hurt Cas, Dean would be more than happy to correct him.

Scott’s eyes flicked to Dean and back to Cas.

“I thought I was the only human down here associating with angels,” Scott said. “I should have known those twisted fucks would stoop low enough to hire on mortal muscle to assist in their dirty work.”

“Put the gun down,” Dean said.

“Dean,” Cas said. Cas reached out to push Dean’s arms down so he was no longer pointing his gun at Scott.

“Listen to your master,” Scott said to Dean with a sneer.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Dean said.

“Dean, that’s enough,” Cas said. “Mr. Allen, I don’t know how much Dillon told you about us, but I can assure you I am not like one of the angels who was sent to bring him back to Heaven.”

“Get the hell out of my house,” Scott said. “I won’t ask again.”

Cas's grip on Dean’s arm tightened, and they began to walk backwards to the door.

“I am truly sorry for your loss,” Cas said.

“Go fuck yourself,” Scott said as Cas closed the door behind them.

When they got back to the Impala, Dean started the car but didn’t drive away. He held the steering wheel between his hands and stared at nothing. The anger he’d felt when Scott pulled his gun on Cas was still running hot and heavy in his veins echoing the blinding rage he’d felt when the Mark of Cain was on his arm.

“What the hell was that?” Dean asked Cas who sat silently next to him.

“A grieving man,” Cas said.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “And it looked a hell of a lot like you were trying to get yourself killed in the middle of his revenge kick.”

Cas sighed.

Dean turned his head to look at Cas. He blinked at the sting in his eyes and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“You knew he was going to react badly to the angel thing, didn’t you?” Dean asked.

“I suspected that, yes,” Cas said.

“We have days until the next time Dillon is supposed to appear, Cas,” Dean said. “We could have come back later to ask that shit. Why did you…?”

Cas pulled out his phone and held up the screen for Dean to see. There was a news report of a body found dumped in a local park. Dean took the phone and scrolled down the page. The body was reported to have strange, unidentifiable burns. Dean flipped to the other tab Cas had open and took a look at the crime scene photos. The victim’s eyes were burned out.

“That’s an angel kill,” Dean said. “Who was this guy? Why was he worthy of a smiting?”

“I don’t know, Dean.”

“Where’d you get this, anyway?” Dean asked.

“Sam texted me this while we were speaking with Scott. I read through them when I stepped outside.”

Dean handed Cas the phone and looked away.

“You think we’ve got a rogue angel on our hands _and_ some kind of angel ghost?”

“Dean,” Cas said. “Until this morning, I didn’t think angels could even become ghosts. I don’t think we’re dealing with a normal angel here.”

“Call Sam,” Dean said. “We need to meet up and regroup.”


	7. Theater Spelunking

Castiel had never been inside a movie theater. During his brief time spent as a human he couldn’t afford the luxury of it, and as a fully powered angel in the millennia prior, the novelty was foreign to him.

Most of the room was taken up by rows of tiered seating with chairs that folded up. The walls were covered with folded fabrics and small lights to make it easier to navigate in the darkness. They reminded Castiel of the emergency lights in the bunker. At the front of the theater was a large, white wall. It looked very different from the television Sam had in his room. Castiel couldn’t figure out how one would watch movies on it.

Mary and Sam were walking through the rows of seats right in front of the screen. The rows were spread across flat ground instead of the ones raising closer and closer to the high ceiling.

“Earth to Cas,” Dean called out a few rows above where Castiel was standing. “You gonna gawk there all night or are you planning to help?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to help with,” Castiel said. “I am not seasoned in summoning ghosts, Dean.”

“Just get up here,” Dean said.

Castiel climbed the stairs until he reached the row of seats Dean was at. Dean stared at him with his eyebrows raised and held out the EMF reader he’d made while Sam was in college. Castiel accepted the reader with gentle hands. Dean made light of the fact that he’d built such a tool, but Castiel knew how proud of it the human was and that it was one of his favorite possessions. If Castiel held the reader at a certain angle, he could see the reflection of Dean’s soul soldered in between the circuits and wires. Dean’s Impala was much the same.

Castiel’s wings fluttered a bit in happiness as he stared at the reader.

“How do I use this?” Castiel asked. He'd seen the brothers use it a few times over the years, but now that it was in his hands it seemed more confusing than he'd imagined.

“It's already turned on,” Dean said. He pointed at the lights along the top. “When these light up and she starts singing, that means we've got a spirit nearby.”

Castiel nodded.

“Are you sure rock salt bullets will work on this ghost?” Castiel asked.

Dean grimaced for a brief moment before plastering on a smile and nodding.

“It's a better option than throwing around holy oil or trying to stab air with an angel blade,” Dean said. “Besides, if we can get him to go home instead of haunting this place without destroying him it's probably a good thing.”

Castiel nodded.

Dean led them further down the row of seats.

The floor was sticky beneath Castiel’s dress shoes. He could smell traces of old popcorn, candy, hot dogs, and bodily fluids rising off the seats. What would it be like to watch a film in one of these places?

Dean paused and turned to look at Castiel. “Did you hear that?”

Dean’s breath clouded in front of his face as the EMF reader in Castiel’s hands came to life with lights flashing and alarms sounding.

The ghost appeared in the row of seats directly below Castiel and Dean. Dillon Bonner was no longer wearing the shy, lovesick smile from the photograph Scott Allen had shown them in his home. Instead, he was staring at Castiel with challenging eyes.

“Duma?” Castiel asked.

“Who the hell is Duma?” Dean asked. He had his gun out and pointing at the ghost.

“Dillon,” Castiel said. “His angelic name is Duma. He’s the angel of dreams, same as I’m the angel of Thursday.”

Dillon nodded his head briefly at Castiel.

“Great, so you’re all Care Bears with special themes now?” Dean asked.

“You should not be here, Castiel,” Dillon said.

“Why?” Castiel asked.

Sam and Mary slowly made their way up the aisle of stairs towards the row where Dillon stood. Both had their guns drawn.

“What happened to you?” Castiel asked. “How did you end up like this?”

Dillon smiled a distant, disturbing smile. “I dreamed. I dreamed of leaving Heaven. Of falling in love and falling from grace. It was beautiful Castiel. Then… I died and I kept dreaming.”

Dillon’s smile melted away. He was staring past Castiel now or through him, but he did not seem to see him.

“What do you mean you kept dreaming?” Dean asked.

“It’s more of a nightmare now,” Dillon said. “I am here. I cannot leave.”

Dillon frowned. The lights in the theater flickered around them as the EMF reader screamed in Castiel’s hand. Then two brilliant blue-white wings appeared behind Dillon. Castiel stared at them. They were full, undamaged from the fall unlike his own. Castiel felt a pang of remorse and defeat as he saw a reflection of how he once stood in Dillon’s ghostly form. His own damaged wings curled tight against his back.

“I can’t leave,” Dillon said.

“Yeah, you already said that, buddy,” Dean said. “You care to explain why you’re still here?”

Dillon started to slowly shake his head. He mumbled words Castiel didn’t catch and started to rise into the air with a flap of his wings. There was no breeze coming off his wings as they moved, something about that disturbed Castiel more than anything else they’d seen.

“I can’t leave. I’m trapped in this nightmare,” Dillon said. He began to fly in sporadic lines. First left, then right. Over Dean and Castiel then closer to the screen and back again. “A nightmare. Not a dream at all. No more dreaming. An endless nightmare.”

“Dillon?” Castiel asked. Dillon didn’t react to Castiel speaking. He kept flying and muttering to himself. “We want to help you. Duma?”

Dillon’s attention snapped toward Castiel. He pinned Castiel in place with his ghostly gaze.

“You,” Dillon said. “The rebel. Good little soldier. Led us into battle. Led us into war. Led us to fall. You did this. You.”

Dillon’s words got louder and more frantic as he spoke.

Castiel froze.

Dillon flew toward him with outstretched hands. He kept repeating that the fall was Castiel’s fault. That he’d led them all to where they were now. Castiel stared him down and braced for his fate.

A gunshot rang through the air on Castiel’s right. Dillon disappeared into a wisp of blue-white light.

Dean’s hand landed on Castiel’s shoulder. “Move.”

“I did this,” Castiel said. His wings bristled.

“No, you didn’t,” Dean said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with that guy or how he ended up as a ghost, but I know two things.” Dean pushed Castiel down the row of seats toward the aisle of stairs. “You didn’t cause whatever the hell that was. And I know how to wake him up from this nightmare.”

“How?” Castiel asked as they reached the stairs. He looked over his shoulder at Dean and shook his head. “How can you wake him?”

“Salt and burn,” Dean said. “We dig up his vessel, burn it, and if he comes back again we go back to Scott to see if he left anything else behind that could have his grace or soul or whatever the hell keeps angels on Earth like that and we burn that too.”

Castiel nodded. “Okay.”


	8. Dig

The sound of metal scraping on stone pierced through the night air. Dirt, sage, and juniper colored each heaving breath Dean took as he dug deeper into the grave. His muscles fought against the strain of the repetitive movements, but he relished the sensation. Sam might find comfort in exercising like a normal person with his jogging, weight lifting, and carefully balanced, healthy meals, but this was how Dean preferred to work out. Actual labor. Getting his hands dirty or bloody while working a case.

“You’re getting slow in your old age,” Sam said from the other side of the hole they were digging. He stood about six inches deeper than Dean.

Dean tossed the next load from his shovel onto his brother’s shoes. “Shut up and dig.”

Getting Dillon Bonner’s bones salted and burned before the night was over was  priority number one. It wouldn’t take care of whoever smote the guy Sam and Mary looked at that afternoon, but it should stop the ghost from pulling another _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ style audience member interaction act on the rest of the film festival.

“Shouldn’t we split up to look for the angel that killed that man?” Mary asked. She was leaning against a nearby headstone with her arms and ankles folded. Her body language was tight and anxious.

“Once this guy is crispy, we’ll get right on that, Mom,” Dean said while tossing another load of dirt out of the way. He refrained from rolling his eyes at his mother bringing up the same argument she’d voiced several times that evening. It was quickly becoming apparent she didn’t like being outvoted by her sons and their best friend.

Cas paced back and forth along the ground surrounding the open grave. Each time Dean loaded his shovel and cast the dirt aside, Cas would make another pass. Dirt went flying, the angel went by. Dirt, angel, dirt, angel, dirt.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean said as he jammed the tip of his shovel into the ground in front of him. “Would you quit pacing? If you have so much nervous energy how about you come down here and put it to good use?”

Cas did one of those full body eye rolls that drove Dean nuts. “I will never understand why you two insist on using shovels to do this. Don’t humans have larger tools to make things like this go faster?”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean said while he leaned on the shovel handle. “Backhoes are great. Too bad they’re also noisy and bright and hard to get in and out of a cemetery that we shouldn’t even be in in the middle of the night.”

“Guys,” Sam called out. Dean and Cas both turned to look at him. “I think we’re done digging.” He poked the tip of his shovel at the ground and it made a sound Dean had learned to associate with shovels and caskets from a young age. “Help me get this open.”

Dean turned to help and felt the twinge in his back spike with pain again. Okay, so maybe he could take another look at one of those fitness articles about keeping pain away. Just to keep on top of his game.

He pointed at Cas. “He’s ready and raring to help out. Let him lift the heavy shit.”

Dean climbed out of the open grave as Cas dropped into it. Dean thought he heard his younger brother mumble _whatever_ under his breath but chose to ignore it.

Once he was back on solid ground, he twisted and turned until his back popped.

Mary held out a bottle of water. He took it and drank deep while watching Sam fight with the lid of the casket and layer of dirt still holding it into the ground. Cas gestured for Sam to move out of his way. Once the coast was clear, Cas reached down and lifted the casket open with all the effort Dean put into opening a hardcover book or his laptop.

Dean hid his burgeoning smile behind his water bottle as he took another sip.

“Is that the grave of an angel?” Dean asked as he moved to look into the open casket.

Cas glared up at Dean. “If I had a chance to look at it for more than ten seconds, I might be able to tell you the answer to that question, Dean.”

“Will you two quit bickering?” Sam asked as he climbed out of the hole and settled against the gravestone Mary was resting on.

Dean refrained from telling Sam that Cas had started it, but only barely. Cas ignored Sam’s comment and instead climbed over the casket so he could get a closer look inside. He squatted down in the dirt. The edges of his trench coat brushed against the soil around him.

“Can you hand me a flashlight, Dean?” Cas asked.

“Sure thing,” Dean said.

He approached the edge of the open grave and tossed the one from his pocket at Cas, who caught it with barely a glance in Dean’s direction. Damn, he loved when Cas did things like that. The light flicked on, bathing Cas’s features in a warm glow as he stared down at the decomposing body with a tilted head. Dean drank the last of his water and put the bottle by their stuff before hopping back down into the grave with Cas.

Cas looked up at Dean and shifted his stance so Dean could look where he was pointing. “It’s difficult to tell with complete accuracy after he’s been dead for so long, but I don’t think this man died from a smiting. There’s no burn marks around his eyes and I don’t see any signs that the vessel failed either.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “Can you use your mojo to look deeper?”

“Deeper?”

“You know, look for residual grace or whatever,” Dean said. “Maybe some graffiti on his bones saying ‘Angels were here.’”

Cas stared at Dean with an unimpressed expression. Dean grinned back.

Cas sighed and looked back at the body. “Yes, I can try ‘using my mojo’ to see if I can detect anything else, but I highly doubt there will be graffiti left behind on the vessel, Dean.”

“That’s the spirit.” Dean bumped Cas's shoulder with his own. Which was a mistake judging by the way it made Dean’s pulse pick up. Cas leaned into the touch for a moment longer then pulled away again.

“Hold the flashlight for me,” Cas said.

Dean swallowed. He took the flashlight then aimed it where Cas pointed.

Cas's hand glowed as he passed it over the body in the casket. Not for the first time, Dean missed the way Cas's handprint on his shoulder used to almost hum on his skin whenever Cas used his grace like this. There was still some of that humming left in Dean’s body. It wasn’t centralized anymore and was usually so faint a sensation that Dean wasn’t totally convinced it wasn’t Pavlovian.

“Any luck?” Sam called down into the grave.

Cas's hand stopped glowing and he stared at the the corpse’s face for a moment. “This was definitely an angel vessel. I can’t tell for sure if it was Dillon’s or if he was still in the vessel when the truck struck the motorcycle or not.” Cas looked at Dean. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

Dean’s first instinct was to get angry and yell at Cas for being down on himself. Instead, he gritted his teeth and took a breath, forcing his John Winchester inherited temper down before speaking.

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean said. He grabbed hold of Cas's shoulder. “You’ve helped us a lot. It’s not like any of us can do all of that magic angel shit.” Cas stared at him for a moment then nodded. Dean squeezed Cas's shoulder briefly then looked up at his brother. “Sam, pass us the salt.”

Soon after that, Dillon Bonner’s corpse was nothing more than fuel for the flames licking over the top of the open grave. Mary and Sam started to gather up their things. All they needed to keep on hand were the shovels so they could rebury the body. Dean moved to stand by Cas's side. The angel was staring at the dancing flames with a blank expression.

Dean knocked his knuckles against the back of Cas's hand. “How are you doing?”

Cas frowned and looked at Dean. “What do you mean?”

“This is the first time we’ve had to salt and burn the body of one of your siblings, man,” Dean said. He curled his hand into a fist, and his fingers rubbed against his palm as he resisted the impulse to tangle them with Cas's. “How are you feeling about that?”

Cas's ghost smile spread across his face. The one that no one except Dean seemed to be able to see. The one Dean knew meant Cas found whatever Dean had just said hilarious, but he didn’t feel the need to broadcast his feelings to the world around them. It was a smile that either warmed Dean’s chest in a way he tried not to study too hard or pissed him off if he was riding the edge of his temper.

“Dean, are you actually asking me to talk about my feelings right now?” Cas asked.

Mischief sparked in Cas's eyes, lit by the fire from the burning body, and his smile grew more obvious. Dean licked his lips and looked away from Cas's face toward the flames. The warmth spreading over his cheeks was absolutely from the heat of the fire. It wasn’t at all because he was fighting off the urge to kiss that stupid smile off his best friends face. Fuck, if that urge wasn’t getting harder to fight off as the years went by, though.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said quietly. “One time offer. Take it or leave it. Spill your guts or forever hold your peace.”

Cas bumped the back of Dean’s hand with his knuckles, echoing Dean’s earlier affectionate tap. Dean looked at him. Cas's smile was almost wistful now. They stared at each other for a moment. A particularly loud snap from the fire in front of them broke through the moment and Cas turned away.

“Truthfully, I don’t know what I feel,” Cas said. “I’ve watched my brothers and sisters die in battle, at the hands of others… from my own hands. But this? I feel, numb? I suppose that would be the correct word.”

“Numb?” Dean asked.

“Duma and I were close once,” Cas said. “Not as close as others I’ve lost. Not like Gabriel, Balthazar… Hannah, but we were close. We once fought together. Not like with Ishim, it was before him. I was very young, I guess you could call it though angels don’t really have an age. Tonight was the first time I’d seen or even thought of him in thousands of years.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said.

Cas reached up and gripped Dean’s shoulder. He held it while they stared at each other until the fire began to die down enough to rebury the grave. After they parted, they picked up their shovels and joined Sam and Mary in the cleanup efforts.

In some ways, it was easier to fill in a grave than to dig one up. It was still a lot of lifting large piles of dirt with a shovel and moving it, which was still manual labor and came with it’s own challenges. Still, it allowed for more wandering thoughts in Dean’s experience than trying to dig up a grave did.

In these moments, Dean ended up thinking about Sam’s secretive text messages and Skype conversations that he’d been having lately. About Mary’s desire to run away from her boys as often as possible because they were grown up. He thought about how she must miss the versions of them she knew from her life before she died and the ones she knew in Heaven. Of how all those moments were stolen from her when Amara brought her back.

Amara.

His shovel hit a stone in the pile of dirt and skidded off course. A deep, calming breath kept his thoughts from traveling too deeply into his experiences with Amara. That was a mess that left him feeling mournful, violated, and sick in equal parts anytime it came up.

He thought about Cas. The angel didn’t seem to be continuing to suffer any ill effects from Michael’s lance. Or from being possessed by Lucifer. Or infected by Rowena’s attack dog spell. Or any of the other horrifying things he’d been through in the last few years when Dean was too fucked up from dealing with the Mark of Cain to help him. Or too self-absorbed and terrified of changing their relationship to do anything.

He hoped Cas had learned that they really did want to have him around. That Dean hadn’t been feeding him bullshit when he’d said he needed Cas. Needing him, of course, didn’t cover even half of Dean’s feelings toward him, but it was the best he could admit to. It might be all he’d ever be able to admit to out loud.

Cas deserved so much better.

“Dean,” Cas said.

Dean looked up at Cas. His blue eyes looked black in the darkness of the graveyard. “Yeah?”

“I believe the grave is filled now,” Cas said.

They looked down to find that the hole was, indeed, filled. Sam and Mary were watching him from the opposite side of the grave. Dean couldn’t see their expressions in the low light, but he knew he didn’t want to examine them too closely.

He cleared his throat and straightened. “Okay.”

“Let’s get out of here before the javelina start wandering through the graveyard,” Sam said. He turned and started off toward the Impala with Mary matching his stride.

“Have-a-what?” Dean asked.

“Javelina,” Sam said.

“What the hell is a javelina?” Dean asked.

“I believe that is a kind of wild boar,” Cas said as he took Dean’s shovel and led them away.

“The locals are terrified of them,” Sam called over his shoulder. “I’d rather avoid them.”

“I can’t believe he’s scared of a few little pigs,” Dean said to Cas. “We’ve already faced some big, bad wolves without problems, but little pigs make him run like a girl.”

“I believe their large tusks and protective, territorial nature when it comes to their young is what makes the javelina intimidating to some, Dean.”

“Whatever,” Dean said.


	9. Mr. Mister

Scott Allen moved through the empty, dark theater on quiet feet. There was something haunting about moving through a space normally filled with people when no one else was around. It left him feeling like every time he turned around phantom people appeared in his blindspots. Whether that was years in the military coming back to bother him in his civilian life or a natural reaction, he wasn’t sure anymore.

He didn’t know what he was looking for or what he hoped to find. Ever since those two assholes in suits showed up at his house that afternoon he’d been out of sorts.

Just last week he’d gone through an entire Tuesday of running errands and doing chores around the house without ever once thinking about Dillon. Of course, when he realized it the next morning it left him wallowing in memories for the next three days like his brain was trying to make up for it, but it was progress. Good progress.

Now it felt like Dillon was close enough he could reach out and touch him again. A longing that hadn’t been this prominent in his thoughts since the first month or two after Dillon’s passing. And here he was breaking and entering into a business that had every right to call the police and lock him up. All because some guys who probably had fake badges got him thinking about Dillon being a ghost.

Could angels even become ghosts?

“Dammit,” Scott said to himself. He collapsed into a nearby seat and held his face in his hands. A chill ran through his body.  “What the fuck am I doing?”

“I can’t answer that, Scott,” a voice said.

Scott’s head snapped up. That was Dillon’s voice.

“Dillon?” he asked the empty theater.

No one responded, naturally. He squeezed his eyes shut and mentally cursed himself for letting those suits get to him.

“Scott?” the voice asked.

“You’re not real,” Scott said. “I’m hallucinating. I need to go back to the VA and see if the psychiatrist can help with this shit. You’re not real. You’re… you’re _dead_. You can’t be here because you’re dead.”

Something cold touched his forearm. Scott opened his eyes again and immediately started shaking his head.

Dillon was crouched in front of him. A very see-through, incorporeal, glowing blue-white like his grace version of Dillon. Which, considering how long Scott had known the angel and the amount of shit they’d gone through together, wasn’t actually the weirdest way Dillon had appeared before Scott.

“Scott,” Dillon said. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Me?” Scott asked. “ _I’m_ not supposed to be here? You’re dead, man. Ashley and I, we buried your body.”

“You buried my vessel, yes,” Dillon said.

“If it was just your vessel, why didn’t you get a new one?” Scott asked. He knew Dillon had done it before.

“I… can’t,” Dillon said. “I don’t know why. Perhaps Heaven has barred my grace from entering another vessel somehow. Given how far I’ve fallen I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Is that why you’re…,” Scott trailed off and gestured at Dillon’s body, or lack thereof.

“I’m…” Dillon lifted his hand from Scott’s forearm and held it up in front of his face. He studied his hand, his fingers for a moment. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”

“You’re still an angel, D,” Scott said. “You’re still _my_ angel. Even if you are a ghost right now.”

“Ghost?” Dillon tilted his head like he did when he was thinking deeply on something confusing. “Yes, I suppose I am a ghost now. I’ve never been a ghost before.”

“There were these guys,” Scott said. “They came to the house today asking a bunch of questions about you. I think they know what’s wrong with you. I think I can make them fix you.”

“I must… atone for my sins,” Dillon said. If Scott could make out the minute detail of Dillon’s features more accurately, he’d say that Dillon’s gaze looked distant. Like he didn’t see Scott in front of him anymore. “Yes, atonement. I’ve sinned and fallen and betrayed my brothers and sisters.” Dillon’s voice grew louder. “I’m a sinner. I must repent. Atone.”

“D?” Scott asked. He reached out to touch the ghost, but felt nothing as his fingers passed through what was once his friend. “Hey, you’re starting to scare me. Stay with me, man.”

“Sinner. Atone for my sins,” Dillon rambled on.

Scott’s heart felt like it was breaking in his chest all over again. He’d only seen Dillon get like this when he was three sheets to the wind drunk and high. That had only happened once after they’d lost half of their team to an IED. It turned out that draining an oil baron’s wine cellar and then consuming a den full of heroin their team had recovered from a distributor was enough to make an angel look like a freshman at a frat party. That was the only time Scott had seen Dillon ramble about missions being bullshit and God abandoning all of his children.

“D,” Scott tried again. Tears blurred his vision and all he wanted to do was hold his best friend, the man he’d grown to love while they both fell apart.

Dillon started to scream. His wings manifested and flapped wildly, lifting him above the seats into the air.

Scott stood.

“Dillon,” Scott called out.

Patches of fire started to peek through the feathers in Dillon’s wings. More bits of fire popped up over his body and outstretched limbs like twisted polka dots.

Scott felt himself screaming along with the angel. “No!”

Ghostly ash rained down from Dillon’s flapping wings like confetti. The fire spread, it consumed. Scott started begging God, the universe, anything, and anyone who would listen to make the fire stop. If he thought it hurt to get that call about Dillon’s motorcycle accident, it was nothing compared to the utter torture of watching the man he loved being burned like this.

“Please,” Scott pleaded as he dropped to his knees in the aisle below Dillon. The edges of Dillon’s wings and limbs were disappearing as the flame spread. Tears slicked Scott’s face, dripping down his cheeks and soaking the collar of his shirt as he shook his head back and forth. “Please, make it stop.”

Dillon looked down at Scott. Their eyes met.

“I love you,” Dillon said. “I’m so sorry, Scott.”

“I—,” Scott started. He didn’t get a chance to finish what he’d tried to say. The fire spread over Dillon’s face and the last of his body too quick. He disappeared before Scott’s eyes. A mournful howl tore from Scott’s lips.

The silence that followed was deafening. Like the silence after a bomb blast, where everything felt far away and wrapped in cotton and nightmares. Scott’s throat was raw from screaming. His eyes blinked repeatedly at the disorienting darkness of the empty theater.

That was… just a nightmare, right? A hallucination. A terrible one, but something he imagined nonetheless. It had to be.

Scott wiped his mouth. His hand shook something awful, a vibration he felt deep into his rib bones.

He braced himself on a nearby seat as he moved to stand. He’d go home, sleep it off, and go to the VA in the morning to get checked out. Maybe check himself in for a few days. For the first time since he’d come back from Iraq, he was thankful Ashley wasn’t waiting for him at home. He didn’t trust himself not to be a danger to her or anyone else if he was hallucinating this badly.

Slowly, he descended the stairs leading out of the theater.

He froze mid-step about halfway down. Out of the corner of his eye he could see something that looked like it was glowing. He closed his eyes, counted to three and opened them again. It was still there. Carefully, he turned to look at the glowing thing. Whatever it was sat tucked between the seat back and cushion of one of the theater chairs. His feet carried him closer of their own accord. His hand reached out to pick up the glowing thing without him telling it to.

“No,” Scott said as tears began burning his eyes again. He held the glowing thing in front of his face. Blue-white light stung his eyes in the darkness of the theater, but there was no mistaking the shape of the half-charred feather between his fingertips. “D…”

“Worry not,” Dillon’s voice said from somewhere behind him. Scott whirled in place and came face to face with Dillon’s ghost, sans wings, once more. The smile frozen on Dillon’s face was sure to haunt Scott’s nightmares for years to come. “I’m free now, Scott.”

“What does that mean?” Scott asked.

Dillon walked closer. Close enough to reach out and cup Scott’s tear-soaked cheek in one ice cold, ghostly hand. “I’m free.”

The cold ache on his cheek and the glowing angel feather were the only things left to tell Scott that he hadn’t dreamt any of it when Dillon disappeared a heartbeat later.

“What the fuck happened to you, D?” Scott asked the empty theater. “Whatever it was, I’m going to find a way to help you.”


	10. Motel

The morning after salting and burning Dillon Bonner’s body, Dean decided to get up extra early and get breakfast for his family. He tapped on Baby’s steering wheel at the stoplight before turning into the motel parking lot. The smell of bacon, cheese, and coffee hung heavy in the air, making his stomach growl.

Styx played on the radio. Dean sung along to their song about running away from the long arm of the law and avoiding the hangman. He was glad that, for once in more than a decade, he didn’t feel like this song hit too close to home to enjoy. A little bit of air guitar and some lip synching in his rearview mirror was the perfect way to finish off the song.

He ignored the judging and suspicious look he got from the single mom shuffling her backpack wearing child off towards their car.

Dean hummed to himself as he walked to the adjoining motel rooms they’d rented. Sam had texted him earlier letting him know they’d gathered in Mary’s room to make a game plan for the day.

Sam and Mary were sitting at the small dining table by the door. There were newspapers, books, and file folders spread across the table around Dean’s laptop and Sam’s tablet. Dean set the paper bag filled with muffins and other breakfast nonsense he’d gotten at the coffee shop on the center of the table next to the cardboard coffee carrier. Mary and Sam thanked him and dug in. Dean took a seat on the opposite side of the table from Sam.

“Where’s Cas?” Dean asked.

“I don’t think he’s up yet,” Sam said between sips of coffee.

Cas had taken up residence on the lumpy looking couch in Dean and Sam’s room the night before. Sometimes the angel slept these days and sometimes he didn’t. After driving as many hours as he had the night before, Dean wasn’t really surprised that he was still conked out.

He pulled out his phone and shot off a quick text to Cas: _time to get up sunshine!_

His phone buzzed a few minutes later while he was eating. When he picked it up, he saw Cas's single emoji response. It was a grumpy face that looked remarkably similar to Cas's natural expression when forced to rise before noon following any night when he’d succumbed to sleep. Dean smirked at his phone but didn’t bother to respond.

Cas came in through the door that joined the two rooms. He moved slowly across the room before dropping into the chair on Dean’s left like a body being rolled into a freshly dug grave.

Dean handed Cas the last cardboard cup of coffee. It was the one he’d ordered with an extra couple shots of espresso. Cas snatched it and immediately began to chug. When he finally lowered the cup from his lips, he held it close to his chest and let out a long sigh.

Dean’s ribs tightened as he watched Cas, and his mind wandered away. Away from the motel and the prying eyes of his brother and mom. Away from Arizona and its unfamiliar dry heat. Back to Kansas, the bunker, home.

Dean’s thoughts brought him to his kitchen in the bunker. A sleep-ruffled, pissed-off Cas stumbled through the open doorway. He glared around the room like everything in it was offensive. Dean picked up the freshly poured mug of coffee from the counter next to him and approached the angel.

Cas may have his mojo back, but there were a few things he’d grown fond of in his time spent as a human. Sleep, Netflix, trashy talk shows, and coffee being among them. Watching Cas attack the mug of coffee with the same single-minded focus he brought to battle always made Dean smile. 

There was a time it would make him feel guilty that he was responsible for making a being like Cas fall so far from what he once was. But, when it came to those he loved, Dean was also a selfish man. The more time that Cas spent by Dean’s side, in the bunker, in his kitchen, the less Dean cared about his guilt or self-flagellating. The more he simply _wanted_.

This time, when Cas finished drinking deep, Dean plucked the mug from his grasp and stepped into Cas's bubble of space. Cas watched Dean put the mug on the counter behind them with a disgruntled, furrowed brow. He looked up at Dean and cocked his head to the side.

Dean let go of the mug and reached up to cup the side of Cas's face. Before he could psych himself up over his movements, he closed the gap between them and leaned in to taste Cas's mouth. Cas's body was still sleep-warm. His lips and tongue tasted of the coffee. Cas clutched at Dean’s back and moaned into the kiss. Dean deepened it as he curled his other arm around Cas's back. His fingers tightened in that damned trench coat and everything seemed right in the world.

“Dean,” Cas whispered against Dean’s mouth.

The sound sent lightning down Dean’s spine, and he was the one to moan this time.

“Dean,” Sam said in a loud, impatient tone like it wasn’t the first time he’d tried getting his brother’s attention.

Dean tore his eyes away from Cas's profile and blinked at Sam. His pulse hammered in his neck as he realized he wasn’t in the bunker kissing Cas. He was still in the motel very much surrounded by his family.

“What?” Dean asked before taking a bite of his breakfast sandwich. He frowned at it in his hand as he chewed. “Did you find something?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “We’re trying to figure out what we need to get done today and how we’ll split the load.”

“I want a closer look at the police records to see if there are any related angel killings,” Mary said.

“Good idea.” Dean looked at Sam. “Do we know anything about the smiting victim?”

“Yeah, the detective sent over an email with some updated information this morning,” Sam handed his tablet to Dean. “Thirty-three year old Albert Fontez. He worked for a local gun manufacturer on the assembly line.”

“My kind of people,” Dean said.

“Cas can come with me, then,” Mary said. “It would be good to have a pair of eyes who know angel killings inside and out when I’m looking over the files.”

“I would be happy to help,” Cas said.

Dean drained the last of his coffee to hide the irritated twist on his lips. Mary had a good point, and it didn’t matter if Dean felt like he hadn’t gotten to spend enough time with the angel lately. It was fine. He and Sam would check out the gun place, and it was going to be awesome.

“Great, it’s decided then,” Dean said. “Let’s get going.”

Mary raised an eyebrow at him from across the table, her breakfast sandwich she held halfway to her mouth.

“I think we have enough time to finish eating, Dean,” she said.

Dean stared down at his half-eaten sandwich. Knowing he’d be separated from Cas again so soon, even just for a few hours, took the joy out of food. They’d been apart for what felt like ages already. He knew he was being petulant so he took another bite of his unappetizing sandwich to keep himself from saying something snarky in response.

“Since it looks like we’re dealing with an angel that’s starting to kill people,” Mary said a couple minutes later. “I’d like a refresher on how to take down an angel. Is an angel blade really the best option?”

“There are some sigils you can use to dispel an angel from their vessel,” Cas said. “If the angel is weak enough, they can kill us too.”

Dean’s knee bounced as he remembered Ishim’s threats from a few weeks before when he and Cas had tried taking the angel down. It hadn’t even been a question in Dean’s mind not to use the sigil once the suggestion of it being able to kill Cas hung in the air.

“I’ll show you where you can find angel sigils in the database,” Sam said. “You can also trap them in a ring of holy fire made from holy oil. We don’t have a lot of oil left, but it’s effective.”

“We also burn quickly when lit up with holy oil,” Cas said.

Dean’s left hand curled into a fist on his lap. He wanted nothing more than to take Cas's hand in his, squeeze it until he was sure the angel was safe, until he could be sure no harm would ever come to him.

“What about bullets?” Mary asked. “Does silver work?”

Dean shook his head. 

“Apparently melted down angel blades turned into bullets can, though.” He looked at Cas. “That son of a bitch Scott better keep the hell away from you.”

“Dean,” Cas said.

“Wait, what do you mean melted down angel blades?” Sam asked.

Cas rolled his eyes.

“Angel blades can be made into bullets,” Cas said. “I’ve seen them used before to great effect.”

“You knew those were a thing?” Dean asked, his jaw dropping a bit. “And you didn’t think that was something to share with the class?”

“Crowley used them on Naomi’s people,” Cas said. “And on me.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say Crowley shot you with angel killing bullets?” Dean asked. He pulled out his phone and navigated to his contacts list. His thumb hovered over the contact named 666 when Cas snatched the phone from Dean’s hand and tossed it on the table.

“Leave it, Dean,” Cas said. “It was back when he was trying to get the angel tablet from me. There’s no reason to prod old wounds.”

“I’m still kicking his demon ass the next time I see him,” Dean said. “And Scott’s.”

“Dean,” Cas said. “If Hannah sent someone after Dillon to get him to come back to Heaven, I don’t blame Scott for not trusting me once he learned I’m an angel. I saw what Hannah’s people did, Dean.”

“You’re not like them,” Dean said.

“And he had no way of knowing that,” Cas said. He reached out to grip Dean’s shoulder. Dean gritted his teeth and leaned into the touch a bit. “What would you do in his position?”

“Whatever,” Dean said. “As long as he stays away from me I won’t feel the need to return the favor.”

Cas sighed.

They finished their breakfast in silence.

Mary and Sam were huddled over Sam’s tablet while they went over some file or email that Dean didn’t really care about right then. He made a weak excuse about wanting to load up the car then pushed away from the table and made his way out to the parking lot. It wasn’t really a surprise when he saw Cas following him.

“I’m gonna need a minute before I’ll be a good person to be around, Cas,” Dean said as he unlocked Baby’s trunk.

“You’re always a good person, Dean,” Cas said as he moved to stand at Dean’s side. Dean clenched his teeth and held his tongue. It wasn’t Cas's fault he was in a terrible mood now. Wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. Which sucked because it was always easier to have a target for his foul mood. Cas gestured at the open trunk. “Anything I can help with?”

Dean handed him a gun and opened one of their ammo boxes. “You remember how to load this?”

“Yes, Dean.”

If it were anyone else saying those words to anyone other than Dean, he’d almost say they sounded like ‘yes, dear.’

Dean shook his head to clear away that line of thinking.

Cas released the clip from the gun and began feeding bullets into it. Dean picked up another gun and began to do the same. Time passed around them punctuated by the sound of the bullets sliding against each other and the springs deep inside the clips creaking as they grew tenser. It was repetitive work and not wholly necessary so far with this case, but it soothed Dean’s nerves. And if he got to spend some extra time watching Cas's long fingers do detailed work, that was his business and no one else’s.

A woman walking her dog waved and said good morning to them both. They returned the greeting, and she continued on her way down the sidewalk without a care in the world. Which was kind of hilarious because Dean and Cas were both loading salt rounds into a pair of shotguns in the middle of a motel parking lot before ten am.

They exchanged a look.

“Red states,” Dean said with a shrug.

Cas nodded once and went back to loading shells into the shotgun in his hands.

When there were no more weapons that they could reasonably make the excuse to load—he’d eyed the grenade launcher for more than a minute before Cas's judging eyebrow made him decide against it—Dean turned and took a seat on the edge of the open trunk. Cas settled down by his side.

“You didn’t have to come out here with me, you know,” Dean said. He studied a row of tall trees growing over the roofline of the motel.

“I know,” Cas said.

Dean turned to study Cas's profile. His eyes tracked a hawk flying over the trees. His expression would look blank to anyone else, but Dean could see hints of wistful longing hidden in the twitch of his brow.

They hadn’t always been friends or even allies, but ever since they’d properly met in that barn, he’d been able to read Cas's expressions like a book. Provided he actually _tried_ to do it and had the time to. Any lies Cas had told him over the years were ones that Dean had refused to look too hard at on his face. Denial made for dark sunglasses.

“Your thoughts seem very loud today,” Cas said.

“You trying to read my mind again?” Dean asked. “I thought you stopped doing that years ago, man.”

Cas's lips curled into a faint smile.

“I’m not reading your mind, Dean,” Cas said. He glanced at Dean without turning his head from the predator bird circling above them. “I’m merely reading your body language. You’ve spaced out a few times already this morning and your mood has shifted dramatically, though nothing dramatic appears to have happened.”

Dean huffed and looked away. This is what he got for being best friends with an angel who could read his soul like it was written on a billboard.

“This case has gotten me thinking too much, I guess,” Dean said. “It’s nothing.”

Cas hummed.

They sat in silence, studying the birds and trees and normal people moving on with their normal lives around them.

“Claire said I don’t know how to human,” Cas said. “Which, I think, was her way of saying I failed in my time as a human the same way I’ve failed as an angel and as a hunter.”

“Hey, knock that shit off,” Dean said. “Only one who’s allowed to talk crap about your skills is me, alright?”

“Oh, is that a rule now?” Cas asked, irritation running thick like molasses in his words.

“Look,” Dean said. “You didn’t fail as an angel, the angels failed you, and Chuck wrote rules for you guys that no one could live up to and still have a heart. And you sure as shit didn’t fail as a human, I kicked you out when you needed me and you had to figure out everything on your own. I mean, you were only fully human for, what, six months? Go find me a six month old human with their shit together.”

“I did fail as a hunter, though,” Cas said. “Even after observing you and Sam do this for years, I failed. Mary had to clean up a job for me because I couldn’t handle it.”

“Cas, dammit,” Dean said. He grabbed Cas's shoulder and turned the angel so he met Dean’s eyes. “Dad literally trained Sam and I to do this shit from the time we could dress ourselves. Even when he left us behind on a hunt, he had us involved in the research process. Shit, Sam’s first language may as well have been Latin for how well he took to translating. It was definitely his favorite language to use when he wanted to piss me off when we were growing up. I had to learn to be as comfortable with it as he was so I’d even know what the hell he was saying half the time.”

“I am a many millennia old being, Dean,” Cas said with narrowed eyes and a razor sharp tone. “I’ve commanded entire armies for longer than this planet has had sentient creatures on it. I’ve killed more than all of your human wars combined.”

“I know, Bab—,” Dean cut himself off. He closed his eyes and collected his breath. Cas continued to fume with an inner fire fueled by self hatred beneath Dean’s hand. A pesky little voice in the back of his mind kept wondering, loudly, if Cas's mouth would taste like coffee and sunshine like he’d daydreamed about earlier. The same pesky little voice that had nearly called Cas ‘Baby’ out loud. A pesky voice that clearly had a death wish the size of Montana for falling as hard as he had for an angelic warrior like Cas. He opened his eyes. “You didn’t fail.”

“A warrior who can’t kill someth—.”

“Okay, fine, you failed,” Dean said. “Is that what you want to hear? You want me to tell you how awful you are? Or do you want me to train you to be a better hunter?”

Cas's expression stuttered on his face. His lip-twisting rage smoothed as his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened. “You want to train me?”

“Yeah, why not?” Dean asked. His grip on Cas's shoulder tightened momentarily before he let go entirely. “You’ve got the basics down and you certainly know how to fight. I taught Sam damn near everything he knows and now he’s getting better than me.” Dean cleared his throat and looked back up at the tree line. “Unless, uh, you’ve got better plans for your life. I can understand if you don’t want to live like a freak anymore. If you want to try that apple pie life with someone.”

Fuck if those words didn’t hurt like a knife through his heart and taste sour on his tongue, but he meant them. If that’s what Cas really wanted, Dean would let him fly away for good.

“Dean,” Cas said. He reached out and took Dean’s hand in his. Dean’s heart leapt in his chest like he was fourteen again and he turned to look at Cas. “I don’t think an apple pie life would suit me. Besides, being a… freak is all I’ve ever known.”

Dean felt lightheaded. “Cas…”

Cas's eyes flicked down to Dean’s mouth.

_Just kiss him_ , Dean thought. It was the perfect time to do it. His body started to sway forward to close the space between them.

“I’d rather be a freak by your side than on my own,” Cas said in a quiet voice.

Dean closed his eyes.

He was going to do it. Their fingers tightened against each other and their bodies were drifting closer like tree limbs in a breeze. He opened his eyes and licked his lips. His breath brushed off Cas's face and back to his own as they got closer.

“Cas?” Mary’s voice called out.

Dean and Cas pulled away from each other like two teenagers who were just caught making out. Dean’s cheeks heated, and he wished the ground would swallow him whole. His mother was fussing with the lock on her motel room door, her back was to them. She called out over her shoulder again.

“Let’s head to the police station,” Mary said. “Sam called ahead and got us an appointment with the detective we spoke to yesterday.”

“Okay,” Cas said. His voice was rougher than usual, but he looked otherwise unaffected from their near kiss.

Dean stood up and motioned for Cas to move from where he’d perched on the back of the Impala. Once Cas was clear, Dean closed the trunk. He avoided Cas's eyes as he played with the keys in his hand.

“Everything alright out here?” Mary asked as she joined them.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Dean said. “Where’s Sam?”

“He said something about catching a shower then he’ll meet you out here,” Mary said.

Dean nodded.

“You ready, Cas?” Mary asked.

Dean could feel Cas's stare boring into his soul, but Dean continue to study the water spots on the trunk lid of the Impala he’d missed the last time he’d given her a bath.

“Yes, Mary,” Cas said. “Let’s go.”

Dean waved them goodbye before he settled into the front seat of the Impala to wait for his brother. He needed a few minutes alone to collect his thoughts and put himself back together. To feel less like half of him just drove down a strange road in his mother’s car.


	11. Seals

Castiel stared at the open case file in front of him. If he were still human, he knew his forehead would be starting to ache from the intensity of his frown.

Mary Winchester brought him to the local police station to look over information on the smiting victim from the day before and any similar cases they had in their files. He knew she was hoping his experience with being an angel would give them the upper hand in hunting down the killer. On any normal day that hope would be well founded, but today Castiel couldn’t seem to reign in his thoughts enough to focus on the case.

His fingers flexed. His wings twitched. He could still feel the phantom warmth from where he’d gripped Dean’s hand in a moment of weakness after Dean had offered to train him to be a better hunter. He could still feel the fluttering in his chest from seeing Dean’s green eyes catch and spark in the morning light. Like leaves in the midday sun.

“Are you feeling okay?” Mary asked.

“I’m fine,” Castiel said. He closed his fingers into a fist and tried to force his eyes to make sense of the page in front of him.

Mary closed the file in front of her and turned in her seat to face him. Castiel stared at the paper even harder.

“You really have spent too much time around my boys,” Mary said.

Castiel winced. “I— It’s only to keep them safe.”

“Castiel,” she said. She rested her hand on his forearm. “You misunderstand me. I didn’t mean that as something negative. You talk like they do—like we all do—saying that you’re fine when you’re clearly not. I’m not judging you it was just an observation.”

Castiel turned his head enough that he could see her face out of the corner of his eye. From the smoothness of her features, he could easily believe that she was telling the truth. That she wasn’t judging him. He tilted his head as he turned more to look at her dead on. Had anyone else ever told him that spending so much time with the Winchesters was anything _but_ a bad idea?

In the brief time Castiel knew her, Dean’s friend Charlie hadn’t said anything negative about his relationship with the brothers, but he could think of no one else. No one who didn’t warn Castiel or Dean or Sam or all three of them about the dangers of joining forces.

“Thank you,” Castiel said.

Confusion made Mary’s eyes narrow. “Can I ask you something?”

Years ago, Castiel would have pointed out that she just did ask him a question. But he was no longer that hyper-literal angel and she was not the Winchester he enjoyed riling up by pointing out such things.

“You may,” Castiel said.

“Did you mean what you said in that barn?” Mary asked.

Castiel froze. 

The memory of nearly dying on a dirty old couch because of Michael’s lance with the Winchesters surrounding him had him feeling off balance. It stung knowing that he owed his life to Crowley for breaking the lance and sparing him, but it was much better than the alternative and so far the King of Hell hadn’t tried to cash in on that debt.

“I did,” Castiel said. “My time with them, and you, has changed my life.”

Mary nodded.

Castiel turned his attention back to the open case file. They’d found two other smitings in this town that happened in the last three years. There had to be a connection between them. He wished Dean was here to give him advice on this kind of research. Point him at someone who needed to be killed or saved and Castiel had no problem, but this? He was out of his element.

“I saw you two this morning, you know,” Mary said.

Castiel paused.

“You and Dean, I mean,” she continued. “It looked like I was interrupting something and I’m sorry.”

“There was nothing to interrupt,” Castiel said. “I gave Dean some assistance with loading his weapons.”

“Castiel,” Mary said. “Look, I’m not stupid. I know you and Dean have feelings for each other.”

“What?” Castiel asked.

“You told him that you loved him,” Mary said.

“I— I said I loved _all_ of you,” Castiel said. “I was dying and…”

“You two don’t need to hide yourselves from me,” Mary said. “I can guess why you wouldn’t feel comfortable telling me about it, but you make him so happy. How could I not want that for my son?”

“Mary, we’re not— Dean and I aren’t like that,” Castiel said. “He is my friend. We share a profound bond, but it’s not that. Please, can we work on the case?”

“Of course,” Mary said. She reopened the file folder in front of her.

Several minutes passed in relative silence as they went over the files. His fingers continued to grasp at empty air when he wasn’t concentrating on keeping them in check. He told himself he was reaching for a cup of coffee—a craving leftover from his time as a human—and not the memory of Dean’s hand. Lying to himself was almost as effective as lying to Mary, in that it didn’t work at all.

“What do you think?” Mary asked as she pushed a stack of photographs across the table at him.

“Is this the deceased man you and Sam looked over yesterday in the park?” Castiel asked.

“Yes,” Mary said. She kept her eyes on Castiel instead of the pictures.

He shuffled through the images, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes as he came across new details. The man’s eye sockets were charred and hollow. His inner elbows were bruised. There were no other discernible wounds on the body.

“Yes, this does look like a smiting,” Castiel said. “Did the file you have say anything else?”

“The coroner noted that the deceased was very low on blood,” Mary said. “Far as he could tell someone drained him of blood either just before death or immediately after. There were needle marks on his arms. That’s probably where the killer extracted the blood from.”

“Why would they drain his blood?” Castiel asked.

“That’s not a normal part of an angel kill, is it?” Mary asked.

Castiel shook his head.

“I may be able to detect more if we can get in to see the body,” Castiel said.

“I’ll let the detective know we want to see the body,” Mary said. “What about those other files? Did you find anything related in there?”

Castiel pulled two folders from the stack he had in front of him and passed them to Mary.

“Two more murders,” Castiel said. “One from two years ago and another from three days after Dillon died. Both victims were smote by an angel and dumped in a semi-public area. I believe both of these victims were loners as well.”

Mary skimmed over the files. “Looks like they both went to a church called Risen. There’s no other connection between them as far as I can see. Unless you found one.”

“No, there was nothing else I saw, and I believe the police already interviewed people at the church,” Castiel said. Mary opened her mouth to say something, and Castiel raised an eyebrow. “But, we obviously know more about these murders than they do. It would be beneficial to speak with them ourselves.”

“All right,” Mary said. “I think that’s all we’re going to learn from these files. Let’s go see about taking a look at that body, shall we?”

“Okay,” Castiel said as he gathered the files and moved to follow Mary out of the room.

When they reached the morgue, Castiel noticed Mary’s nose wrinkling at the smell. She put on a brave face and nodded at the coroner to uncover the body. Times like these stood out to Castiel when he was reminded of how much the Winchester sons were used to doing more unsavory things than their mother—or most other hunters—seemed to be. It was almost charming.

Castiel could smell that Albert Fontez had eaten fish shortly before he died. He was killed the night before the jogger found his body. Dew had soaked into his flesh as decomposition started. A tang from the stale standing water in the wash colored the air around the more bloated parts of the body. There was another smell around the man’s forehead. Something sharp and familiar.

He looked at Mary who was studying him with narrowed eyes. He wished Dean was here. With a glance he knew the man would understand what he wanted, needed. It was worth trying with Mary, though. There was always a chance silent communication was a Winchester family trait and not just a Dean one. He lifted his right hand and held it near the corpse’s head. His fingers flexed against his palm, and he raised an eyebrow at Mary.

Her attention shifted from his face to his hand to the body and back again. With a barely noticeable nod, she looked up at the coroner.

“I read something in the autopsy report that I didn’t quite understand,” she said with a soft smile on her face. She tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear as the coroner’s eyes widened and his pulse picked up. Apparently flirting with strangers to get something they wanted was also a Winchester family trait and not just a Dean one. “Would you mind helping me?”

Mary led the coroner to the other side of the room. They had their backs turned to Castiel while they flipped through the autopsy report in search of whatever question Mary was using to distract the man.

Castiel flexed his hand and summoned his grace. Holy light slipped from his skin as he passed his palm over the corpse’s head and face. There on the dead man’s forehead, like a signature from his killer, was something worth inspecting. His grace stretched out and brushed against that spot where the dead man’s angelic executioner had pressed his palm and outstretched fingers to the man’s forehead while the man’s eyes burned away and his heart stopped.

Each angel had their own unique essence in their grace and it left behind a kind of residue when they killed or healed someone with it. Grace signatures could be traced back to specific classes of angels. Archangels, Seraphim, Fallen angels, and more. The essence in the dead man’s body was one Castiel definitely recognized. The holy light flickered away as chills ran down his spine, and he took an involuntary step back from the corpse. 

He hadn’t seen anyone from this class of angels since Naomi and Bartholomew. Both of them had long since moved on to other assignments. No one who was active in that class was supposed to come to Earth.

Castiel swallowed hard, more of a reflex than from actual need.

He sought his grace again and passed his glowing hand over the dead man’s ribcage, abdomen, and finally his pelvis. On the man’s left hip he found what he had hoped not to find. An angelic brand designating this man as a specially destined angel vessel. Castiel didn’t recognize the particular seal.

The angelic seals signified that this particular bloodline was marked for a specific angel to use as vessels on Earth. Not every angel in Heaven came down to Earth in need of a vessel. Some of them used their vessels for a few short days every couple human generations to complete a mission. Castiel had briefly used Jimmy Novak’s great-great-grandmother when he’d visited Earth with Ishim’s flock. He hadn’t returned to Earth until after he’d raised Dean from Perdition.

Angelic vessels, for the most part, could house more than just the angel whose seal was emblazoned on their bones, and some humans without seals could house angels too.

The angel who’d killed this man belonged to the class of angels Castiel remembered for their white-hot hatred of humans. For the way they’d looked down on their angelic brethren who chose to visit Earth and interact with the humans instead of sticking to angelic issues. 

This class of angel were used for passing out judgements from God himself. On souls, humans, and even other angels. They used to be called the enforcers, officially, but were most commonly known as _The Royal Guard_.

Had one of them survived the fall and the civil war that followed? Why would they be on Earth and why had they killed this vessel?

Castiel powered down his grace and signaled for Mary. His wings shuddered with unease. There was nothing else he could learn from this body today. Mary finished her conversation with the coroner and led the way out of the morgue. When she stopped off at the restroom, Castiel sought out Detective Baum who’d helped them.

“There’s another file I’d like to get a copy of, if you don’t mind,” Castiel said.

“Is it related to this case?” the detective asked.

“I believe there is a chance, yes,” Castiel said.

“Okay, which file do you need?”

“There was a motorcycle accident several months back,” Castiel began. “A man named Dillon Bonner died. He may have ties to the current victim. Any information you have on the accident investigation and his death would be helpful.”

The detective frowned for a moment like he was trying to remember something fleeting. “Dillon Bonner… oh yeah, the soldier. That was a sad scene. Sure, I’ll get you a copy of that right away.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said.

When Mary came out of the restroom she was on her cellphone. She gestured to Castiel that she’d be outside and brushed past him. It sounded like she was calling the church to set up an interview.

A few minutes later, the detective came back and handed over a file folder with Dillon’s name on it.

“This is what I have on his death,” the detective said. “We investigated the truck driver, too, at the insistence of one of Dillon’s army buddies. If there is a correlation between the two cases, I’d like to know.”

“I’ll keep in touch,” Castiel said. The words tasted like a lie on his tongue. He tucked Dillon’s folder beneath the other case files the detective had given them. He bid the detective goodbye and went outside to join Mary at her car.

“Did you learn anything else from the body?” Mary asked as she backed out of her parking space.

“I was able to confirm that it was a smiting and that the time of death listed in the autopsy report was accurate,” Castiel said. He toyed with telling her more, but decided against it. Angel politics were never something he liked dragging the Winchesters into. Especially Mary as she had the least amount of experience with angels. He’d tell Dean once he knew a bit more. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t sense anything else.”

“Thank you for trying,” Mary said. “I got us an appointment to talk with a few of the people at the church the victims belonged to. We’ll head there next and see if we can learn anything.”

Castiel nodded.

His thoughts were far from the car or the Arizona streets passing by the windows. Sights and sounds from old angelic battles reigned heavy in his mind drowning out the world around him. He was thankful Mary wasn’t in the mood to talk and instead turned up the stereo. Castiel vaguely recognized the Led Zeppelin song playing as one that Dean had put on the cassette tape he’d given him to play in his truck. Guitars mixed with long forgotten angelic cries as the miles melted away.

A stone and metal sign on the street corner let them know they’d arrived at the church. Risen was scrawled in a copper script over the short wall. The church itself was massive and modern and nothing like what Castiel pictured when he thought of houses of worship.

Then again, Chuck wasn’t what he’d pictured when he’d imagined being reunited with God after so long either. So what the hell did Castiel know?

Mary parked in front of a large, decorative granite boulder. A man dressed in slacks and a white dress shirt stood on the walkway next to the boulder. He had his hands crossed in front of his pelvis and a beatific smile on his face.

“You must be Mary,” the man said as he held out his hand to shake each of theirs once they’d left the car. “I’m Pastor William, but you can call me William.”

“Nice to meet you, William,” Mary said. “This is my partner, Castiel.”

William’s hazel eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he schooled his features and shook Cas's hand.

“The name of an angel,” William said in awe. “That’s fascinating.”

“My family is quite religious,” Castiel said. He ended the handshake as soon as he could. The visit to the morgue and the grace signature he’d found had left him feeling on edge. A deep breath and a ruffle of his wings made him feel more centered. He smiled at William. “We’re here to talk about some of your recently deceased parishioners. Is there somewhere we could do that?”

“Absolutely,” William said. “Please, follow me.”

William led them through plain glass doors that looked like they belonged in a strip mall. Through hallways with beige industrial carpet and gray walls. Past plain, clear glass windows and notification boards advertising support groups and workshops. At the end of one hallway, Castiel was able to see through a pair of double doors into the main worship hall where a large stage and an even larger cross took all of the focus.

It all felt so sanitized. Sterile. He’d been in cathedrals, temples, synagogues, mosques, and every other type of worship house known to man in the millions of years since God had started populating his little Earth experiment. This church felt almost as far removed from God and religion as Castiel did in recent years. There was none of the awe inspiring masterpieces or people with bent heads and folded hands talking to Castiel's father. Not for the first time, Castiel began to wonder how many humans felt as disillusioned with Chuck and his plans as Castiel did.

They stopped in a room that looked to be set up for support groups. A ring of chairs sat in the middle of the room with empty folding tables lining one of the walls. There were several other people already in the room talking quietly amongst themselves. The talking stopped when William led them into the room.

Castiel and Mary exchanged a glance.

“Friends,” William said to the people gathered in the room. “These are agents Nicks and Rollins. They’re with the FBI and have some questions for us about Albert’s life so they can solve the mystery behind his tragic death. Thank you all for agreeing to take the time to speak with them on such short notice. Your cooperation will not go unnoticed.”

Another door across the room opened and a man walked through carrying two large coffee carafes in his hands and a stack of disposable cups tucked under his elbow. A woman stood up to help him unload the coffee supplies onto one of the folding tables. The man glanced around the room once, then his attention snapped back to Castiel and Mary. A grin spread across his face, and he turned to the whisper something to the woman before pulling himself away from coffee duty and crossing the room.

“Well hello, beautiful. Fancy seeing you here at the church,” Ricky, the waiter from the diner, said as he approached. Castiel noticed the man was not wearing his glasses today. Ricky pulled Castiel into a tight hug. Castiel felt his eyes widen in confusion at the touch before he reminded himself to return the gesture. The hug he gave Ricky was not as tight, but Ricky didn’t seem to mind. He patted Castiel on the shoulder blade and pulled away. “What brings you guys to Risen? Are you looking to stay in town a little longer and join us?  Are you here for book research?”

“Not exactly,” Castiel said.

Mary pulled out her fake FBI badge and showed it to Ricky. “We’re here to talk about Albert Fontez and a few other parishioners who have died under unusual circumstances in the last few years.”

“Oh,” Ricky said. His eyebrows raised and he took another step back. “Oh, that’s… not what I expected. Okay.”

The woman who had helped Ricky set up the coffee came over. Her hair was only a few inches long pink.

“Is everything okay, Ricky?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine, Ash,” Ricky said. “These two were in the diner during the breakfast rush yesterday. They told me they were here to write a book, but I guess that was a flimsy cover story. Did you guys know that someone was after Albert before you came to town?”

“No,” Castiel said. “We did come here to investigate an unrelated matter. My usual partner is fond of ghost stories. There was a recent sighting that caught his attention so we came out here to look into it.”

“We had some vacation time to burn,” Mary said. She looked at Castiel. “Castiel, why don’t you talk to these two and I’ll chat with the others over here?”

“Okay,” Castiel said with a nod.

He watched Mary walk away and tried not to feel as if he was stranded in a situation he didn’t know how to handle. He looked back at Ricky and Ash and forced a smile. They led Castiel over to a trio of chairs they’d pulled away from the rest of the circle and sat down.

“Handsome,” Ricky said. His eyes were narrowed and his chin bobbed slightly as he nodded. “Handsome is your usual partner, isn’t he?”

Castiel blinked. “Who?”

“The pretty green-eyed one you were eating with,” Ricky said. “The one who got all fluffed up over ordering you food that you barely ate and wanted to string me up a flagpole for making conversation with you.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, his wings fluttered a bit. Comments like that always left him feeling thankful that he wasn’t surrounded by his brothers and sisters. There was no one here to read the body language in his wings. No one to know how flustered the thought of Dean feeling that way about Castiel made him feel. “Yes, he is my usual partner.”

Ricky turned to Ash and held his hand over his mouth to mock whisper at her. “Guy was a total closet case.” He looked back at Castiel. “You deserve someone who isn’t ashamed of you, beautiful.”

Ricky thought Dean was ashamed of him? That irritating twinge of pain in his chest whenever Castiel thought too hard flared up again.

Ricky reached out and rested his hand on Castiel's thigh. “You ever get tired of waiting for him to notice you, let me know. I’ll be sure to notice you.”

Castiel stared at Ricky’s hand. Should he have gotten tired of waiting for Dean by now? Cas's last attempt at intimacy with anyone ended poorly. He looked up into Ricky’s eyes. Maybe interacting with this human would be different.

Did Castiel want something different? Did he want anyone other than Dean? Would Dean ever be able to want him the same way? 

Before April the reaper stabbed him, the sex they had was enjoyable. Castiel didn’t know if it was because every time he thought of their intimacy the memory made him feel sick even with his grace restored, but he hadn’t felt the drive humans seemed to have for sex. Even during the rest of his time as a human he hadn’t felt compelled to seek out physical intimacy with another. He hadn’t deserved it either. 

The closest thing he felt to a sexual response was the fluttering he felt in his chest when he was near Dean. When Dean smiled or clapped Cas on the shoulder. Those moments made Castiel want to be closer to the human. It made him curious to explore things.

Castiel swallowed and shifted his leg under Ricky’s hand.

“Calm down, Ricky. You’re making him uncomfortable,” Ash said. Ricky removed his hand from Castiel's thigh. “Ignore him, Castiel. I’m sure your partner is a wonderful man. Having a man who isn’t afraid to order food for you can be a good thing. My husband,” she paused, frowned, and shook her head. “Excuse me, my ex-husband used to encourage me to try new things, especially when we traveled. He’s been all over the world, and I’ve only been to a few different states. Suggesting new food was his way of helping me stretch my comfort zone. It was his way of sharing his worldview with me. Of showing he loved me enough to share that part of his life, even though it was so far away from our experiences together.”

Dean was always trying to find so-called teachable moments for Castiel. Humans were so confounding with their contradictions and hidden layers behind their actions.

“Please,” Ricky said. “He was trying to mold you into a socially acceptable version of his secret boy toy. Scott, her asshole ex, was banging his best friend on the side, and she didn’t find out until the best friend died. It was sick.”

“Ricky,” Ash said.

Castiel squinted at her. “Is your name Ashley Allen?”

“It’s Ashley Connor now,” Ricky said. “She’s changed it since divorcing that fuck muppet.”

“Yes,” Ashley said. “That’s still my legal name, but how did you know that?”

“Dean and I spoke with your ex-husband yesterday,” Castiel said.

“Do you think he had something to do with Albert’s death?” Ricky asked. “Like some PTSD induced murder thing?”

Ashley slapped Ricky’s arm with the back of her hand.

“Hey, shut the hell up, Ricky,” she said. “Answer my question, Castiel. Why were you speaking to Scott?”

“We have no reason to believe Scott had anything to do with the murder of your fellow parishioner or any of the others,” Castiel said. “We spoke with him in relation to the lore that brought us out here on our vacation.”

“The ghost story thing?” Ashley asked. “Why would you talk to Scott about ghosts? He doesn’t believe in any of that crap.”

Castiel searched his limited social knowledge for a way to explain or lie about Dillon’s ghost sighting. Castiel still wasn’t adept at talking to people, but he suspected from Scott’s volatile reactions to the questions they’d had about Dillon that Ashley would have similar ones. Without Dean here, Castiel felt wholly unprepared for dealing with another grieving stranger mourning one of their, formerly, closest friends.

Ashley stilled. She met Castiel's gaze with glossy eyes.

“Wait,” she said. “Di—Did it have to do with Dillon’s death?”

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“Was it not an accident?” Ashley asked. “The police said it was just an accident. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“We’re not sure,” Castiel said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her brow wrinkled and she closed her eyes tight.

Ricky wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Hey, hey, Ash,” Ricky said. “Don’t cry over that home wrecker. He doesn’t deserve anymore of your tears or your mental energy.”

Ashley shrugged out of Ricky’s hold and wiped at her tears.

“It’s not that easy, Ricky,” Ashley said. “He was my friend too. I mean… God, Ricky, don’t you get it? I feel like I lost them both in that accident.”

Ashley looked away from them both. Her eyes were red rimmed and wet while she stared out the far window at the mountain view.

Castiel thought back to his and Dean’s meeting with Scott the day before. About the way Scott had dismissed the lack of furniture and personalization in his home as Ashley having taken everything she could from him. He thought about Scott’s insistence that he hadn’t cheated on his wife, regardless of his feelings for Dillon.

Ricky laid a hand on Ashley’s knee. “I’m gonna go get you some water.”

She nodded and he walked away.

“When was the last time you spoke with Scott?” Castiel asked.

“Um..” Ashley toyed with the hem of her t-shirt. “A couple months, I think? We’ve only spoken once since I called my mom asking if I could stay with her for a while. I was a little, okay a lot, drunk when I called him after that and I don’t really remember everything either of us said. I didn’t even go back to get my things from our house. My mom took care of all of that for me.” She scoffed and blinked back tears. “Now I have all of our old crap in storage that I don’t know what to do with and my mom keeps hassling me to finish signing the paperwork for the divorce. It’s been a really rough year.”

“I see,” Castiel said.

She ran her teeth over her lip and glanced at Castiel. “How is he doing?”

“I believe he could use a friend,” Castiel said carefully.

She nodded.

Ricky returned with a bottle of water that Ashley accepted with a weak smile. He kissed her temple and whispered into her ear after he sat down. Her smile grew stronger.

“Well, now that you’ve made my darling Ash here cry,” Ricky said. “Why don’t we get on with the things you actually wanted to talk about today, Castiel?”

Right, the smitings. Castiel was surprised he’d gotten so derailed by the echoes of Dillon Bonner’s life again. His bones were burned and his case was done, but something about it resonated with Castiel to the point of distraction.

He pulled pictures of the three assumed smiting victims from his inner trench coat pocket. “Do either of you recognize any of these people?”

“This one is Albert,” Ashley said as she tapped the first picture with her index finger. Her sparkling pink nail polish was chipped in a few places.

“The other two are Christine and Karl,” Ricky said. “I didn’t know any of them very well. They didn’t really socialize with anyone.”

“Yeah, Albert would come to service on Sunday. Sit in a pew, say his prayers, sing along with the hymns, and then leave before anyone could say anything to him,” Ashley said. “I’ve only been back with the church in the last few months though. My mother thought it would be helpful to have a built-in support system like this to get me through my divorce. So it could be that he just wasn’t comfortable talking to me.”

“No, I think you’re right,” Ricky said. “All three of them were like that. Devout, a little bit stuck up, and kept to themselves. I tried to befriend Christine after her sister died of cancer, but she refused to give me the time of day.”

“Do you know if any of them had any enemies?” Castiel asked. “Anyone who would have reason to harm them or wish them harm?”

“Oh no,” Ashley said. “We’re a pretty non-violent group of people here at Risen.”

“Yeah, I don’t think there’s anyone here who held any kind of grudges against these guys,” Ricky said. “But I didn’t know any of them outside the church. Robert would come into the diner once in a while, but he didn’t really talk there either.”

“Okay,” Castiel said. He returned the pictures to his pocket and hoped that Mary had learned something more useful in her interviews.

“There was one thing,” Ricky said. “I’m not sure if it means anything, but they all had this vibe about them. Like they were waiting for something. Working in a restaurant I see a lot of waiting. People waiting for me to get out of the weeds enough to refill their coffee or take their order. People waiting for their friends or lovers to arrive so they can eat. People waiting for an important phone call or for enough time to pass that they could quit pretending to be wherever they were supposed to be at and go back home. All three of these people were like that, but I could never figure out what they were waiting for.”

Castiel tilted his head. Jimmy’s memories from before Castiel had possessed him were mostly confusing, but Castiel had learned to decipher through some of them better before they’d disappeared altogether with Jimmy’s soul after Chuck had restored Castiel. One of the memories Castiel remembered from Jimmy was that feeling like he’d spent years waiting for something. Seeking something that he didn’t understand.

Ashley nodded. “Yeah, now that you mention it. Albert did seem like he was waiting for something or someone. He spent a lot of time before service started or on weeknights when he came in just staring at the cross in the main auditorium. Like he was waiting for a message from God.”

Castiel wondered if that search for the unknown was shared among all predestined vessels. An argument could be made that even the Winchesters weren’t immune to that feeling before they decided to tear up the script.

“I don’t know if that’ll help or not,” Ricky said. “They were all a little weird, to be honest.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said. “Any information helps. Even if it seems strange or unrelated.”

“I think I’ve learned everything I can from my group,” Mary said as she approached. “What about you, Castiel?”

“I think I’m finished here as well,” Castiel said. He turned to Ricky and Ashley. “Thank you both for your time.”

They said their goodbyes and Castiel followed Mary from the building to her car. He listened with half of his attention as Mary spoke about the smiting victims. It was much the same story. All three loaners who were a little off but deeply devout people.

“Were you able to learn anything else?” Mary asked him as they drove away from the church. “You three were talking for quite a while.”

Castiel shook his head.

“I didn’t learn anything else about the smiting victims,” he said, choosing not to touch on the comment about all three of them waiting for a sign from God. He had his suspicions about the reasoning for them to be that way, but he didn’t want to discuss it with Mary. “The woman there, Ashley, she’s the ex-wife of the soldier Dean and I spoke with yesterday afternoon.”

“The soldier?” Mary asked. “Oh, you mean the guy who was friends with the ghost we salted and burned? Huh, small towns really are small sometimes. Did you learn anything interesting there?”

“No,” Castiel said. “Nothing relevant.”

“Okay,” Mary said. “Let’s go meet up with the boys and see if they learned anything.”


	12. Roadside

The Impala was parked alongside a deserted road beneath a large oak tree. Mid-morning sunlight filtered through the branches and leaves bathing the car in soft shadows. A breeze swept through the open windows. Warmth on the wind suggested the day would be a hot one.

Cas shifted in his sleep. His face nudged against Dean’s chest and shoulder like he was trying to burrow into Dean’s warmth. Dean tightened his arms where they wrapped around Cas's broad back. He ghosted a kiss over Cas's hairline.

“Did I fall asleep?” Cas asked. His voice was rougher than usual as he got closer to full consciousness.

Dean smiled at him.

“You did,” Dean said. “Clung to me like a koala while you did it too.”

Cas grunted. He shifted to rest his chin on Dean’s chest. Sunlight caught in the blue of his eyes as he stared at Dean. Strands of his thick, dark hair fell over his forehead. Dean could feel the prickle from Cas's dark stubble poking through his shirt.

“We finally take a real vacation together and you let me fall asleep on the second day when we should be driving?” Cas asked with a small shake of his head.

“Are you kidding?” Dean ran his fingers through Cas's sleep tousled hair. “Do you know the last time I was able to be lazy for a few hours with a gorgeous guy sleeping in my arms? The last time I spent a few hours just… existing without the niggling guilt of a new apocalypse hanging over my head? Yeah, never. That’s when.”

“You think this vessel is gorgeous,” Cas said with a mischievous quirk of his lips.

“No,” Dean said. “Not the vessel. You.” Dean traced his thumb over Cas's cheekbone. Cas closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “This body hasn’t been a vessel for you in a long time. But even if you were in another one, I’d always see you and I’d always think you’re gorgeous.”

Cas crawled forward until he was able to reach Dean’s lips.

They both smiled into the kiss.

It was a lazy one. Long, sucking passes of their lips over one another. Soft, sweeping touches of their hands through each other’s hair and over chests, arms, backs. They stayed above the belt by some unspoken agreement. Neither of them needed to rush things or turn it into something heated. There was no race to a finish line. They simply sank into each other and relished the moment.

Dean’s bones ached with emotion as he kissed the man he loved.

A knock on the window of the Impala tore through Dean’s daydream. He swallowed against the lump of his heart in his throat as he found himself sitting in the front seat of the car, not the back. Cas was nowhere to be seen.

Dean wiped a hand over his face and turned to roll down the window.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him from outside the car.

“You feeling okay?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat once, twice, then settled for nodding. “I’m fine.”

Sam climbed into the passenger side. Dean pulled Baby out of the motel parking spot and onto the street as soon as Sam was buckled in.

Dean blinked a little more than was normally necessary. His daydreams or fantasies or whatever you wanted to call them were getting more frequent. More real, too. He wasn’t sure if it was the case turning up the volume on his feelings for Cas or something else. Whatever it was, it hurt. It wasn’t like he really needed the constant reminder of how much he loved Cas. So his subconscious could calm down anytime now.

He turned on the radio and cranked the volume to drown out his own thoughts.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Sam called out over Led Zeppelin.

That was a valid point, dammit.

Dean turned the volume down enough that Sam wouldn’t have to shout to give him directions.

“Happy?” Dean asked.

“Thrilled,” Sam said. “Take the next left.”

Once Sam guided them onto the highway leading out to the gun manufacturer, they both went quiet.

The area they passed through was actually rather beautiful for being in the middle of the high desert. Mountains, a little lake, a smattering of trees, the occasional cactus growing out of some huge rocks labeled as The Granite Dells, and stretches of high desert ranches following that. Any other time, Dean would be able to appreciate the view, let it coax him into relaxing. Today, the ache in his bones and heart wouldn’t leave him alone.

In order to distract himself, he glanced at Sam who had his phone out. He was supposed to be looking at the directions, but last time Dean checked, that didn’t require typing out a lengthy message. Or that dopey, dimple-ridden grin Sam was trying to hide on his face.

Dean’s eyebrows raised. “Who’s the babe?”

“What?” Sam asked.

“Come on, Sammy. You’ve been texting and doing that video chat stuff with someone for weeks now,” Dean said. “And you keep trying to hide your dopey I’ve-got-a-crush smile, too. So who is it?”

Sam shifted in his seat so he was looking at Dean. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

Well, that backfired.

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked. Like the taste of Cas's mouth from his daydream wasn’t lingering on his lips like a phantom touch. He wasn’t used to Sam calling him out on things like this. Or even noticing them in the first place. “You know I’m a rolling stone. There’s no one to talk about on my end because I tried that relationship, apple pie life shit and it failed horribly.”

Sam snorted.

“Right,” Sam said. Dean swallowed and stared straight out the windshield at the road ahead. “Look Dean, you know damn well what I’m talking about. And that’s my price.” Sam held up his cellphone and wiggled it at Dean. “This? It’s important enough that I don’t want to share it just yet. I’ve fought hard all my life for my privacy and I don’t intend to give it up now because you’re trying to distract yourself from your feelings.”

“I don’t have feelings,” Dean said. He didn’t have to look at Sam to feel the power of his bitch-face at that comment. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Sam said. “And when you’re ready to talk about all the feelings you’re not having, I’ll be here for you. Until then, you keep your crap to yourself and I’ll do the same.”

They were approaching their next turn fast. For once, Dean didn’t want to let the conversation die there. He wasn’t ready to take Sam up on his offer of a chick flick moment though.

“Okay,” Dean said. “I have one question though.”

“Trade me an answer for an answer?” Sam asked.

“Sure, fine, whatever,” Dean said.

“Shoot,” Sam said as he righted himself in his seat again.

“There is _someone_ you’ve got now, right?” Dean asked.

“You’ve been daydreaming about someone specific, haven’t you?” Sam asked.

Son of a bitch, when did his little brother start paying attention to things like that?

Sam directed Dean through a few more turns. The sign for the gun manufacturer grew bigger as they got closer. The pit of anxiety roiling in Dean’s stomach grew wilder.

“Yes,” Dean said through gritted teeth. “It’s someone specific.”

Sam nodded. “Then to answer your question, yes. It’s new, but… yeah. I’ve got someone.”

“Good,” Dean said after he parked Baby in the visitor parking.

He looked at his brother. At the way Sam wasn’t trying to hide his lovesick smile anymore. The lightness in his shoulders and how it smoothed the worry lines Dean had started to think were permanent fixtures on Sam’s face from sight. He actually looked… happy. Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Sam look genuinely happy like that before. There had always been some hint of self loathing or grief or anxiety from hiding _something_ beneath his smiles.

“That’s really good, man,” Dean said.

Sam ducked his head as his smile grew.

“Let’s get this over with,” Sam said as he reached for the door handle. He paused, his finger tapping on the door handle and continued talking without looking back at Dean. “For what it’s worth, if the person you’ve been daydreaming about makes you half as happy as you look when you’re in the middle of zoning out thinking about them, I think you should take a shot at it.”

Sam disappeared out the car door before Dean had a chance to compose himself enough to answer. His eyes strayed to the backseat and another visceral flashback to his daydream of kissing Cas on the side of a nameless road came back to steal his breath away.

Dean got out of the car.


	13. Initials

Ashley Allen pulled her car into the driveway of the house she and Scott bought three years ago. This was the house they were supposed to spend their lives in. The home they’d adopt a kid or two in. Where they’d remodel the upstairs loft into a home office for her and add a home gym for Scott and Dillon onto the back of the garage. There were only two names on the home loan, but it was a place all three of them had dreams they’d wanted to fulfill in.

When Dillon died, all of that changed.

The roses she’d planted last spring were overgrown and crisping around their edges from the desert sun and neglect along the front of the house. Weeds were crawling up between the rocks Scott and Dillon had landscaped with where the front lawn used to grow.

She paused at the base of the front steps. The small concrete walkway was one of the first things they’d added when they bought the home. A sad smile tugged at her lips as she remembered cajoling both men to add their initials next to hers after the concrete guys left for the day. The letters _AA_ , _SA_ , and _DB_ were forever immortalized in a corner before the first step up into the house. She could still hear their collective laughter from that warm summer evening on the wind.

She swiped at her eyes and pulled out the house key she’d sworn to her mother she’d given back to Scott. Months had past since she’d last unlocked this door.

Her stomach dropped to her toes when the door opened and she saw what her mother had left behind of their things. The living room was empty save for a few scattered pictures—none with Ashley in them—on the mantel of the fireplace. A cheap card table and four folding chairs sat in the dining room where the three of them used to drink their morning coffee while Ashley and Scott ate breakfast.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Scott’s voice came from the stairwell between the living and dining rooms. 

Ashley turned and didn’t bother hiding her tears this time. “Hi, Scott.”

“Did you finally find a lawyer to draw up divorce papers for me to sign?” Scott asked as he came down the stairs and moved to lean against the banister with his arms folded over his chest. 

The venom in his words carved at her heart. 

“I wanted to check on you,” Ashley said. 

Scott rolled his eyes.

“I’m still breathing,” Scott said. His fingers tightened around his bicep and the muscle on his jaw jumped as he ground his teeth. “What’s with the hair?”

Ashley blinked at him, then ran her fingers through her unruly pink hair. She hadn’t bothered throwing in any of the gel she’d been using to keep the short hair in check before rushing over to the house. 

“I wanted a change,” Ashley said.

“Well, you certainly got that,” Scott said with a snort. “You’ve checked on me and you’re not here with papers so you must be here to see what else you can take from me. Is that right?”

After seeing the way her mother had left their former home, Ashley didn’t blame him. As far as she knew, Scott wasn’t aware that Ashley hadn’t come along to gather her things that day. Her mother had made sure to collect Ashley’s thinks whiles Scott was at work. He had no way of knowing that all of those things were sitting in a storage facility collecting dust and costing her money every month because she refused to look through any of it. He had no idea she’d spent the last several months bumming around on her best friend Heather’s couch because she couldn’t stand the thought of signing a lease on an apartment by herself.

“Oh Scott, I’m so sorry,” Ashley said as she shook her head. She reached out to him as she walked closer. He flinched away from her touch. She closed her hand and let it fall to her side. “I had no idea Mom took all of this stuff when she came by. I didn’t want her to do that.”

“Yeah, well, neither of us wanted a lot of things to happen,” Scott said. “Doesn’t mean much now.”

He brushed past her and walked into the kitchen. Cabinets and drawers slammed as he started making coffee. When the second mug landed on the counter with enough force that she was actually surprised it didn’t shatter, she realized he was preparing to make both of them a cup.

“I don’t have any of your fancy creamer,” Scott said. “If you’d let me know you were coming by I could have stocked up.”

“It’s fine,” Ashley assured him.

This was all her fault. Every last terrible thing that the three of them had gone through this year could be traced back to her and a moment of weakness in this very kitchen.

Scott kept his back to her as he brewed the coffee. He tilted his head slightly, his jaw muscles jumped as he ground his teeth. She used to love watching him like this, even when he was mad he was beautiful. Eventually, he let out a frustrated sigh.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Scott said. “I was upstairs with my headphones on and only came downstairs to make some food.”

“I wasn’t standing there for very long,” Ashley said. “I should have rung the doorbell so you knew I was here.”

She pulled out her keys and started to remove the house key from her keyring. Her fingers shook.

“Don’t,” Scott said, his voice cracked. “Just… don’t.”

Her heart leapt in her chest. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and stared at him until her eyes started to burn.

“Are you sure?” Ashley said. She fought hard to keep the hope out of her words.

“The realtor might need you to open it or something when I’m not around,” Scott said.

That’s right. She’d nearly forgotten that they’d agreed to sell the house. The kitchen went blurry as tears threatened again. She put her keys back in her purse and set it down on the breakfast bar.

“What were you going to make for lunch?” Ashley asked.

“Just grilled cheese,” Scott said. His right shoulder lifted and fell. “It’s been a while since I made it to the grocery store.”

“Oh man,” Ashley said. “Grilled cheese sounds amazing.” She crossed the kitchen and opened the fridge. “I’ll make it.”

“You really don’t have to,” Scott said.

She waved him off as she got everything together and ready to cook.

“Please, you know I make the better grilled cheese anyway.” She swallowed and paused while the pan warmed up. “Besides, I miss this.” Scott said nothing. “I miss him and you. I miss us. The three of us.”

It was the first time she’d acknowledge out loud that their relationship extended beyond what it said on their marriage certificate or the home loan. After the letter she’d gotten from Scott when he was overseas when he’d first mentioned meeting Dillon, their lives had changed. When Scott brought Dillon home with him, at first she was a little angry and then a little jealous, but they quickly became a trio.

Dillon lived in their spare bedroom and helped with the maintenance and personalization of the house. He joined them for movie nights and often took her side in playful arguments because they both loved watching Scott get riled up. Dillon brought color and light to their relationship that Ashley and Scott didn’t have on their own. As more time passed and she really got to know Dillon, Ashley found herself falling for him, too.

Two weeks before Dillon died, she’d ruined everything.

She was cooking one evening when she got a call from Scott saying that he’d be working late that night and couldn’t make it to dinner. Dillon came into the kitchen when she was in the middle of throwing a fit over her ruined romantic evening. He calmed her down and persuaded her to not throw the food away, but to eat it anyway with the bottle of red wine she’d bought for the occasion. Whether it was the alcohol or Dillon’s friendly presence that night, she still wasn’t sure, but she’d kissed him. Not a sweet, friendly kiss either, but a full on tongue in his mouth, his shirt gripped in her fists kind of kiss.

At first he’d kissed back. His fingers wrapped tight in her then shoulder length brown hair and a moan slipping from his mouth into hers. Then he broke it off and was across the room before she had a chance to realize he was moving. He apologized and took off. She’d finished two more glasses of wine before sleeping on the couch with a tear soaked pillow under her head.

The next time they were alone, which was another week and a half later, he told her that it was a mistake. He apologized over and over again and explained that he was going to leave town for a while. He wanted to give her and Scott some time alone, distance himself from them so he didn’t ruin their marriage. 

If she’d just been strong enough to come clean about loving them both and wanting them both he wouldn’t have been on the highway that night. He wouldn’t have gotten hit by that truck. She and Scott wouldn’t be alone and lonely without him.

A sob slipped from her lips. She covered her mouth before she could stifle the sound.

“Ash, are you okay?” Scott asked. He approached her like a spooked, feral animal. All slow steps and outstretched hands.

“I miss him,” she said. Her voice cracked. “I miss both of you so fucking much, Scott.”

“Honey…” Scott said. He pulled her into a hug. She pressed her tear soaked face into the curve of his neck while he turned off the burner on the stove and moved the pan. When he wrapped his arms around her back and started to smooth his hands over her shirt, she began to fall apart. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

They finished cooking while wrapped up in each other’s arms. Tears streaked and dried on their cheeks as they moved. Fingers tangled and hips brushed against one another like their bodies were trying to make up for lost time. Two magnets that finally stopped fighting their mutual attraction. They ate sitting on the living room floor with their backs to the wall where their couch used to sit staring at the mantel with half of their hodge podge family photos.

She rested her head on his shoulder after they’d finished eating. This place was still home. It was empty and in shambles, but it still felt right in her bones to be here.

“I missed you too,” Scott said in a soft voice. “Both of you, obviously. It’s been so damn hard doing this without you here.”

He turned to press his nose against her hairline. She closed her eyes and sunk into the sensation which she’d missed so much.

“I never should have left,” Ashley said.

“No, you needed the space,” Scott said with a small shake of his head. His nose nudging at her hair, his breath warming her forehead as he spoke. “We both did.”

“At the very least, I shouldn’t have stayed away for so long,” Ashley said.

He pursed his lips and took hold of her hand. His thumb toyed with the wedding ring set she’d refused to take off.

“Okay,” Scott said. “I’ll agree with that.”

She chuckled. “Ass.”

His laughter was a salve on her months-old emotional wounds. She wasn’t sure she’d heard him laugh since before Dillon left the day of his accident. Her chest ached with the realization of how much she’d missed that sound.

She sat up.

His tongue ran over his bottom lip and his eyes seemed to stare into her soul.

She reached up to cup his cheek with her free hand. Her thumb brushed over his cheekbone. His eyelids fell closed. The lines from worry, grief, and loneliness smoothed away as she touched him.

“Can I…” She fought for breath. He opened his eyes and tilted his head against her palm. “Can I come home?”

“Fuck,” Scott said. Her heart fell. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He tugged at the hand he was holding, pulling her close. The kiss that followed was warm like bundling up in front of a fire with a big mug of your favorite hot drink after trudging through a snowstorm for hours. They both started to cry again as it continued. Tears of joy traced down their cheeks.

“Is that a yes?” Ashley asked against his mouth.

He sucked her lip into his mouth and ran the tip of his tongue over the skin. “Yes.”

“Good,” she said before crawling into his lap.

The kiss grew heated, and their clothes fell away. Their fingertips relearned the lines and curves of each other’s bodies. He drug his lips and teeth over the new tattoo she’d gotten on her left hipbone, a pair of angel wings.

“He would have loved this,” Scott whispered against her skin. “I wish he could have seen it.”

She pulled him up to kiss at his mouth. “He’s back home now. I’m sure he’s seen it plenty from up there.”

Scott grinned against her mouth and pushed her flat against the living room floor.

They’d always communicated better when naked. Nails dragging across the sensitive skin of hip bones and shoulder blades meant _I love you_. Teeth digging into collarbones said _I’m sorry_. Noses pressed against the underside of jaws meant _I missed you_. Kisses said _please don’t leave again_. The rolling of hips and squeezing of thighs said _this is everything, all that I am_.

No one else had ever made her feel like this. And now that Dillon was gone, she didn’t think there was anyone else on Earth who had the potential to come close to it. She didn’t want anyone else to come close. She didn’t want anyone else, period.

Afterward, they retreated up the stairs and burrowed into the nest of blankets and pillows in their bedroom. The pillows were new. The blankets and sheets were backups they’d set aside for company. All of it was piled on a queen sized air mattress, but it felt like the most comfortable spot Ashley had found in years.

“Not that I’m not thrilled that you’ve come home,” Scott said as he ran his fingers over her shoulder. “But what changed your mind?”

“I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to do it since I locked the door behind me that night,” Ashley said honestly. She could hear his heartbeat from where she laid on his chest while she spoke. “There was a guy who came into the church today.”

“You’re going to church again?” Scott asked.

“Mhm,” she hummed. “It was one of mom’s ‘requests’ when I came to stay with her after I left. I made a few friends there before I was able to start crashing at Heather’s house so I kept going. It’s been something to do.”

“I don’t think I could sit through sermons that held angels in such high regard after what they did to Dillon the last few years,” Scott said.

“That part is definitely awful,” Ashley said. “A lot of the time I space out on Sundays when they’re preaching. Make up my grocery list or something. A few times I’ve had to excuse myself to keep from making a scene.”

“So who was this guy?” Scott asked.

“His name was Castiel,” Ashley said. “He and his FBI partner were there asking us questions about one of the parishioners. I got roped into talking to him because I was there setting up an art project for the Sunday school when his partner called asking to interview some of the church goers. Anyway, he was nice. I didn’t really get to interact with his partner much until the very end.”

“What did the guy you talked to look like?” Scott asked.

“Uh, dark hair, blue eyes,” Ashley said. “A trench coat that looked a couple sizes too big for him.”

“Those sons of bitches,” Scott said.

“So he was telling the truth when he said that he and his other partner had come to talk to you yesterday,” Ashley said.

“Yeah, two douchebags in suits showed up with badges and started asking questions about Dillon,” Scott said. “I shouldn’t have let them in.”

“I still don’t understand why they came to talk to you,” Ashley said. “You wouldn’t know any of the parishioners that died. And what could they possibly want to know about Dillon?”

“They said something about Dillon’s ghost haunting that stupid angel film festival downtown,” Scott said. “He would have hated that shit.”

“Huh,” Ashley said. “I guess that makes sense. He was saying his other partner was all into ghosts or whatever.”

“The one you talked to is an angel, Ash,” Scott said.

She was startled enough that she sat up so she could look into his eyes. “Seriously?”

Scott nodded. His gaze trailed over her naked chest for a moment. She recognized the flare of lust in his eyes before he swallowed and looked up at the ceiling. 

“I thought he seemed… familiar when he and his partner were interviewing me,” Scott said. “It wasn’t until he started asking me what kind of feelings Dillon had about angels that I remembered to check the sigils. When I saw that the one by the fireplace was tripped I didn’t react well.”

Ashley hummed. She remembered the last angel who’d tried getting into their home while Dillon was still alive but out for the day. Scott had pulled his gun on the angel and held him at gunpoint long enough for Ashley to pray to Dillon and Dillon to fly home. After they’d gotten rid of that angel, Dillon had explained that normal bullets would do nothing to them. He suggested melting down the angel’s blade and making bullets with it. None of them were sure that they would work, but the logic was sound.

“He didn’t seem hurt when I spoke with him,” Ashley said. “Did the bullets work?”

“My trigger finger isn’t that twitchy, babe,” Scott said. He reached up and pulled her arm until she was settled onto the bed next to him again. “They were trying to see if we’d found his wing print when he died.”

“Which the police didn’t,” Ashley said. “And we still don’t know why.”

“We also don’t really know what a wing print looks like, other than a pair of wings,” Scott said. “It could be something that flashes through the air around him or something. He was never clear on it.”

“Can angels even become ghosts?” Ashley asked.

“I don’t know,” Scott said. “I get the feeling Castiel knows more than he was letting either of us know, though.”


	14. Backseat

Mary Winchester sat in the backseat of the Impala while Dean drove the four of them up a winding mountain road to a little historic mining town called Jerome that the detective recommended they check out. The longer they drove, the higher they climbed into the mountains. The higher they climbed, the more that the scenery around them changed. At the base of the mountain, the land around the road was dry with wild grasses stretching out to touch distant mountains and new subdivisions. Up here, forests reached for the clouds and setting sun around them.

Dean had music playing softly. Led Zeppelin continued being the soundtrack for their lives with every rotation of Baby’s tires.

Mary studied her eldest son’s profile. His expression was blank and, for the most part, his eyes stayed pinned to the road ahead of them. The only time they strayed from the road was on long stretches between curves when they were alone on the road. Invariably, Dean’s eyes would flick up to the rearview mirror to look at Cas who sat directly behind Dean. 

Her son was just as bad at hiding his feelings about someone as John was when they first started dating. She didn’t care what Sam had said, there was something else going on between Dean and Cas. Something neither of them wanted to share with the rest of the world yet.

Her fingers drummed on seat next to her thigh.

“Have you found anything else in those case files I gave you, Sam?” Mary asked.

“Nothing yet.” Sam looked over his shoulder from the seat directly in front of her. “Are you guys sure there was nothing to the connection with the church?”

“No one knew anything,” Mary said. “All of the victims were loners. They’d come to the church to worship, avoid talking to pretty much everyone and leave again.”

“That’s what Albert’s coworkers said about him,” Sam said. “What about you, Cas?”

“The woman I spoke with was married to Scott Allen,” Cas said.

“Scott Allen?” Dean asked looking into the rearview mirror again. “The guy we talked to about the ghost angel?”

“Yes,” Cas said.

“The asshole who tried to shoot you with angel bullets?” Dean asked.

“He was grieving,” Cas said. “We’ve been over this.” 

“Yeah, well, I still don’t like him,” Dean said. “Figures that his ex-wife would leave him because of her church though.”

“I don’t believe tha—.”

“I mean, how shitty is that?” Dean asked, cutting Cas off. “Guy loses his best friend and his wife who’s known him for _years_ leaves when she finds out he’s a little less straight than she thought?”

It was Sam’s turn to try to derail Dean from his rant. “Dean, I’m not su—.”

“Why are your dad’s fans so obsessed with who everyone else sleeps with, anyway, huh Cas?” Dean asked. “If it’s not the church goers preaching hellfire and encouraging lost teenagers to pray the gay away after getting caught making out in the back of their dad’s car with another guy, then it’s the junkless angels judging each other for who they get close to. It’s all bullshit.”

The car fell silent, save the low music and the wheels turning over the road.

Mary watched Dean grip the steering knuckle hard enough to turn his knuckles white. She caught Sam’s reflection in the side mirror outside the car, his brow was furrowed and his gaze distant like he finally found pieces to a puzzle he didn’t know he was building. Cas was studying his hands in his lap.

“Dean?” Mary asked.

“Not now, Mom,” Dean said. “Look, the four of us are taking the night off. I don’t want to hear another word about this case or Lucifer’s baby momma or those British tea bagging assholes until after sunrise tomorrow, understand?”

The three of them responded with varying agreements ranging from Sam’s eager nodding to Mary’s terse, _whatever you say_. Dean cranked the volume on the music and pressed the gas pedal a little harder.

Mary folded her arms and continued to study her oldest son. What the hell had happened to him while she was gone?


	15. Night Off

After what seemed like hours, Dean found a parking spot for Baby in a lot tucked behind an old firehouse in the little mountain mining town of Jerome, Arizona. To get from the parking lot to the main part of the town—with the restaurants, antique stores, art galleries, wineries, and places claiming to be haunted—they had to walk along a narrow concrete walkway with a drop-off into the Verde Valley stretching out to their left. The sun had already set on the town of Jerome, but the valley below was still washed in warm, orange light.

Mary and Sam were leading the way into the town. Sam was pointing and talking quickly. Mary was smiling that ‘mom smile’ Dean had seen in movies. The kind of smile that meant she may not care as much as he did about whatever thing he was excited about, but she’d listen to her last breath if it made him happy.

Cas stopped halfway down the walkway and stood staring at the sunset-washed valley. He was wearing a pair of borrowed jeans, sunglasses, and one of Dean’s old AC/DC t-shirts in an attempt to blend in a little better with the tourists on their night off.  Dean approached him slowly and raked his eyes over Cas's body, marveling at how striking he looked in different clothing.

Dean waved Sam and Mary off. They’d already agreed about where and when to meet up again. They wandered off together, leaving Dean and Cas by themselves.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dean asked.

Cas smiled. And damn, how long had it been since Dean had seen that?

“It is,” Cas said. “I think I came here when this was all wild, save for the indigenous populations who hunted here and settled in the mountains.”

“Before us modern humans ruined it all, you mean,” Dean said.

“No,” Cas said, turning to look at Dean. “Not ruined. You’ve changed the landscape, some of that change came with destruction and many negative things, but it’s not ruined.” He looked back at the valley. “If anything, it’s gotten more beautiful in it’s own way.”

Dean swallowed.

He turned to look at the view, but his gaze kept trailing back to Cas. Eventually, he gave up and pulled out his phone. A few swipes later and he was holding it up to get a picture of Cas's expression while he took in the wonder before him.

When Cas realized what Dean was doing he gave him a sideways glance that Dean caught in the gap behind Cas’s sunglasses and a wry smile. “You’re supposed to be looking at the mountains, Dean.”

“I was,” Dean said. He locked his phone and wagged it at Cas. “I even got a picture with them in it to prove it.”

Cas shook his head and looked down at his feet with a smile.

Dean gave in to his instincts and wrapped an arm around Cas's shoulders after he put his phone away. His thumb brushed over Cas's shoulder, then he started to lead the confused angel into the town.

Tonight he’d let himself have this.

Tonight he could pretend they were two random friends who got to be touchy-feely in public while taking in the tourist trap around them.

They wandered through the town like that. Dean’s arm around Cas's shoulders and, eventually, Cas's arm wrapped around Dean’s lower back. They studied the metal signs and old photographs hung up on old buildings explaining the history of the town and specific spots. They hooked their fingers on the rusty wire keeping people out of condemned buildings. They looked through a store of incredible expensive, handmade kaleidoscopes. Then wandered through other stores filled with furniture, large copper sculptures, and snarky bumpers stickers.

It took every last ounce of Dean’s restraint not to pull Cas even closer than he was. To keep himself from pressing his nose against the angel’s cheek or pulling him into a kiss when Cas smiled in awe at something he saw.

Best friends didn’t kiss. Angels weren’t allowed to love humans. People who loved Dean back ended up dead and gone forever. Cas was someone he wasn’t willing to risk losing like that. Not again.

An hour or two passed before Dean and Cas made their way to the bar they’d agree to meet Sam and Mary. Dean slowed his steps when he could make out the sign above the door, The Spirit Room. When they were driving through and making their vague plans, he’d appreciated the pun in the name; now he was losing his desire to visit the place. He didn’t want this evening of pretending to end.

“Why are we slowing down?” Cas asked. “Isn’t that the bar where we agreed to meet Sam and Mary?”

“Yeah, it is,” Dean said.

They came to a stop across the street from the bar.

Dean squeezed Cas's shoulders tight, then let his arm slip away. Cas's fingers burned a line of warmth along the small of Dean’s back as Dean stepped out of Cas’s personal space.

It was dark outside by now. Light from the bar bathed Cas's face in muted colors and shadow.

The last thing Dean wanted to do right then was go into that bar, sit down with his family and pretend that he didn’t want to push his best friend against the nearest wall with his mouth and hands pinning him in place. He was exhausted. Tired from keeping up a lifelong charade for appearances sake.

“Are you alright?” Cas asked.

_I keep telling myself not to kiss you, but that doesn’t make me want to do it any less_ , he thought.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Dean said. “I just noticed all the motorcycles outside the bar. Didn’t feel like getting jumped by a bunch of bikers because they got the wrong idea about us walking in like that.”

Part of Dean even believed that lie.

Gay-bashing related terror used to play a big part in his own efforts to stay as far in the closet to the average person on the street as possible. Being bisexual made that easier, when he needed to get laid or wanted someone to take his mind off life and all of its dramas he could easily find a woman to take him to bed and take him apart. 

It was the reckless times. Times when he and Sam had fought enough to go their separate ways. Times when Dean was left to his own devices to hunt without someone acting as his safety net or conscience. Those were the times he pushed the line of acting straight to keep from getting hurt and truly being himself. Those were the times when he’d actively seek out the stolen glances from men who looked like they wanted to shove him into a wall. Sometimes the wall shoving left Dean with bloody knuckles and black eyes, other times he got fucked well enough that he floated on a cloud of relaxation for the next week—aside from not being able to walk right.

Dean was so wrapped up in memories of his old escapades that he almost missed the way Cas flinched at Dean’s words.

Cas looked over Dean’s shoulder. “Right, we should head inside then. Before anyone gets any wrong ideas.”

He brushed past Dean and crossed the street without looking either way to make sure he wasn’t going to get hit by a car.

Dean cursed at himself.

When he made it into the bar he found Cas at a tall table sitting down with Sam and Mary. Sam waved at Dean to get his attention, like Dean wouldn’t be able to spot his gigantic moose self. Dean nodded in response to Sam’s wave and made his way through the weeknight crowd.

Dean took the open stool next to Cas and thanked Mary for the bottle of Margiekugel she slid his way. He took a sip from his beer hoping it would help with his growing nerves.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said in a quiet voice as he leaned into Cas’s space.

Cas took a sip from his own bottle and studied the crowd beyond the table. Dean watched him with a sinking feeling in his chest.

A song about wanting whiskey and a man when the singer wanted to raise a little hell played in the background. Sounded like a perfect night most of the time. Right now, Dean would settle for Cas acknowledging his presence. He’d really fucked up this time.

Sam looked at Dean with a question in his expression as he flicked his eyes from Dean to Cas. Dean shook his head. Sam shrugged and started up a conversation with Mary about some museum they’d wandered through that evening. Dean listened with half an ear and fought to keep himself from staring at Cas with puppy dog eyes until he paid attention to Dean.

“Hi, beautiful,” a guy in glasses said as he wrapped an arm around Cas's shoulders. “If we keep running into each other like this, I’m gonna start believing in fate.”

Dean stared at the guy’s fingertips digging into the sleeve of Cas's borrowed t-shirt. Dean ground his teeth together before looking at the guy’s face. He looked familiar.

“Ricky,” Cas said. “I had no idea you would be here. I didn’t even know I was going to be here.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Agent,” Ricky said to Mary. “What brings you guys out to the bar tonight? Another dead body or is Handsome over there still looking for things that go bump in the night?”

Ricky’s laugh was grating on the last of Dean’s nerves.

“It’s Mary right now, not Agent,” Mary said. She gave Ricky a patient smile. “And we’re taking a night off.”

“Mind if I join you?” Ricky asked.

Dean could see Sam watching him with a nervous expression out of the corner of his eye.

“Refresh my memory, _Rick_ ,” Dean said. “But who the hell are you again?”

Ricky patted Cas's shoulder and pulled up a stool from another table. His elbows brushed against Cas's as he finished settling into his seat between Cas and Sam. He reached across Cas's space at the table and held his hand out to Dean to shake.

“I was your waiter at the diner a couple days ago,” Ricky said. “Cas and Mary were at my church yesterday interviewing a few of us. They’re gonna help figure out who killed Albert.”

“We will,” Cas said. “It could take some time, but we’ll find out what happened to your fellow church member.”

Dean ignored Ricky’s offered hand and took a sip of his beer. Ricky pulled his hand back and drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

“I’m not sure if Ash and I were very helpful,” Ricky said. “Did you learn anything useful from the others, Mary?”

“They gave us some ideas of other avenues to pursue,” Mary said vaguely.

The song changed to something upbeat and modern. Cas drained his beer and turned to Ricky.

“Would you like to dance?” Cas asked. “I have never danced in a bar before. I would like to try it.”

Ricky’s answering smile was nearly as blinding as the stab of pain in Dean’s chest. Dean watched as Ricky took Cas's hand and led him out onto the makeshift dance floor to join a small crowd of other dancers. He stared at Cas's empty beer bottle and his empty stool and sunk into the ache in his heart.

Sam was asking him a question, but Dean couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear the song that was playing either, which he was thankful for because he didn’t think he’d ever want to hear it again.

“Dean,” Mary said in a stern tone as her hand landed on his forearm. “What is your problem?”

“Mom it—,” Sam started to say. His words cut off when she glared at him.

“Come with me,” Mary said with a gentle tug on Dean’s arm.

Dean stood up from his seat and left his half empty bottle of beer on the table as he followed his mom outside. She led him down the street far enough from the door of the bar that they likely wouldn’t be bothered by people coming in and out, then she whirled around. The anger in her eyes reminded him of John for a moment.

“Look, I’ve been trying to figure you two out for months,” Mary said. “Ever since I saw you two together in the bunker. That whole hug between friends thing. I’m not stupid, Dean.”

“What—”

“I’m not done,” Mary said holding up her right hand with her index finger extended. “You care about Cas, right?”

“Yes,” Dean said.

“You love him, don’t you?” Mary asked.

Dean struggled to take in enough air, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny it.

“Are you going to do anything about that?” Mary asked.

Dean’s throat bobbed.

“Dean,” Mary closed her eyes for a moment. It looked like she was counting in her head before she opened them again. “You love him. He’s in love with you. Sweetheart, you only have two options in a situation like this. You either make a move and see what happens. Or you let him go.”

A truck drove past, and it’s headlights washed over their bodies like the ocean waves Dean felt like he was drowning in.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

Mary took hold of one of his hands in both of hers. “Sweetheart, you can’t keep stringing him along like this. He’s confused and lost and hurt. I know you don’t mean to do it. I may not have been here to raise you, but I know you’re not that guy. You’re not the guy who hurts someone he loves like that on purpose.”

“I’m not stringing him along,” Dean said. His voice sounded like he was coming off a three day bender.

“Dean,” Mary said. “Tell him you love him or let him find someone who can.”

They stared at each other for a while. Then Mary squeezed his hand and patted his cheek before heading back to the bar on her own.

Dean stood there on the sidewalk numb as the world passed him by.


	16. Dance Lesson

Dean sat on the foot of the one of the beds in the hotel room he and Cas rented out that afternoon. When they’d booked their rooms that afternoon, he’d been nervous and excited to share one with Cas.

The room was on the small side and decorated with plain fabrics and old, heavy furniture that looked old enough to be original to the building. Warm yellow light washed over the room. It should have been comfortable. A nice place to rest and unwind on a night when they didn’t need to think about anything or save anyone. Now it felt hollow. Lonely.

Dean swallowed against the lump in his throat.

He could walk to Baby and sleep in the backseat. Maybe even drive her back to their other motel rooms in Prescott an hour away. Sam would understand why he had to leave. As long as Dean made it back here to pick everyone up in the morning it would be fine.

Of course, judging from the way Ricky’s eyes had roamed all over Cas's body, Cas might not even be coming back to their hotel room tonight.

Dean rubbed at his chest. Why did he even bother coming to the hotel? He should have left in Baby when he had the chance. He stood up and grabbed his duffel bag.

One last look around the room confirmed it was devoid of any evidence he’d even been there. He would drop his room key off in Sam and Mary’s room then go to the car. He’d figure out everything else from there.

Dean opened the hotel room door and froze.

Cas stood on the other side with his own room key in one hand. It looked like he’d been fidgeting with it for a while.

“Dean,” Cas said as he looked up with wide eyes.

“Room’s all yours, Cas,” Dean said. “I was just leaving.”

“Leaving?” Cas asked. “Was there another body? Is there news about Kelly? Why are you leaving?”

“No,” Dean said. “It has nothing to do with the case. I figured you and what’s-his-face would want the room to yourselves. I’ll bunk with Sam and Mom.”

Dean started off down the hallway. From the sound of stomping feet, Cas was quick on Dean’s heels. An iron-like grip took hold of Dean’s arm and spun him around.

“Dammit Dean, where the hell are you going?” Cas asked. His blue eyes sparked like an electric storm.

“I already told y—,”

“No,” Cas said. “You gave me an excuse and I don’t understand it. Why would I want to bring Ricky up to our room? Why are you trying to run away from me?”

Dean stared at him.

“So you can get laid,” Dean said in a soft voice.

Cas used his whole body to roll his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“ _I’m_ ridiculous?” Dean asked. “Then why did you ask him to dance if you didn’t want to sleep with him, huh?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Because I’d never danced with anyone before, and it looked like fun. I knew you would say no and Ricky seemed amiable.”

“And?” Dean asked.

“And what, Dean?”

“And how was he at dancing?” Dean asked. “Is that going to be your new thing now? Dancing with random, hot strangers in bars when you’re pissed off at me?”

Cas let go of Dean’s arm and shook his head. “Like you sleep with random waitresses when you’re mad at me?”

Dean’s shoulders slumped.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Dean said.

“I don’t either,” Cas said. “You make it hard not to.”

Dean rubbed at the skin between his eyes. “It doesn’t make it easier to stop an argument when you say shit like that. You know that, right, Cas?”

Cas sighed like the world at large was giving him a headache.

“It wasn’t fun,” Cas said.

Dean snorted.

“What?” He asked as he dropped his hand and looked at Cas again. “Fighting with me isn’t entertaining like it used to be?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Cas said. “Dancing with Ricky wasn’t fun. I don’t understand why humans do it so often.”

“It helps to have a partner who knows what they’re doing,” Dean said. “Let me guess. He kept stepping on your feet?”

“Yes,” Cas said.

Dean sighed. “Yeah, well, we’ll get you dance lessons or something when we get back home. If you’ve still got this bug up your ass.”

Cas stared at him. His head cocked to the side, eyes narrowed. Dean tightened his hold on the duffel bag handle in his hand.

“You’re jealous,” Cas said. “If you wanted to dance with Ricky, why didn’t you ask him?”

Dean stared at the ceiling and shook his head. “You’re an idiot.”

Suddenly Cas was deep into Dean’s personal space. A deep breath would make them touch. Dean looked into Cas's eyes and swallowed hard.

“Why, Dean?” Cas asked, his tone dangerous. “Because I’m the one who refuses to acknowledge his feelings? I already told you how I felt and you called me family again. You’ve made it very clear you have no interest in returning my feelings so why am I the idiot here?”

There was a challenge written in Cas's angry eyes. A challenge and an ultimatum. Mary’s words about needing to make a choice echoed in Dean’s head.

He nodded once.

“Fine, you want to learn how to dance?” Dean asked. He took hold of Cas's arm and led him back to their room. “Let’s dance, then.”

“Don’t you need music to dance?” Cas asked. He patted his pockets, frowning.

“I’ve got music,” Dean said. “What are you looking for?”

“The cassette you gave me,” Cas said. “I thought I had it in my coat.”

The breath in Dean’s lungs disappeared. Cas carried the mixtape Dean had made for him in his trench coat? Fuck, it was hard not to give in to the urge to kiss Cas in moments like this.

“There’s no cassette player here. I’ve got it covered though,” Dean said. He pulled out his phone and cued up one of his playlists. The music was upbeat and not something he’d play in Baby or around Sam, but he enjoyed it anyway. He tossed his duffel bag onto the far bed and took Cas's hand. “Now, I’m not great at this, but just follow what I do and how I move. It’ll be close enough.”

Cas nodded and looked down to watch Dean’s feet as Dean began to move. Cas took small steps. His brow was wrinkled, and his feet landed heavily with each step. Like dancing was a math problem he needed to solve.

“Okay, stop. Just stop,” Dean said. He shook Cas's hands in his enough to wiggle the angel’s arms. “You need to relax. You’re thinking too hard about this. Just, quit thinking.”

“I don’t know how to do that, Dean,” Cas said. “Why don’t you tell me what it’s like not to think, since you have so much experience with it.”

Dean opened his mouth then closed it again, tightly. He nodded his head. Kinda deserved that one.

“Think of it like we’re in a fight,” Dean said.

Cas blinked slowly.

“Yeah, I know I just told you to stop thinking,” Dean said. Cas opened his mouth, and Dean waved him off. “What I mean is, if you and I are fighting through a nest of vamps, are you studying every move I make so you know what to do next or is it more intuitive? Like you know where I’m going to be and when I’ll be there, and you look over every once in a while to make sure that hasn’t changed and none of them got the drop on me when you weren’t looking. That’s the way you gotta follow me here.”

Cas stared at him long enough that Dean started to worry that the angel didn’t understand. Eventually, he nodded.

“I believe I can do that,” Cas said.

“Let’s try,” Dean said.

He began to lead them to an upbeat song. At first, Cas struggled. He moved like he was too big for his body—which, technically, he was in his true form—and hadn’t gotten the hang of his limbs yet. Then, just as Dean was preparing to give up again, something clicked between them.

Suddenly they were moving like they did when they were in the middle of a fight. There was no more stumbling over each other’s feet or flying elbows and knees trying to leave bruises on each other. There was the rhythm and the music and each other.

Cas's smiling eyes sparked in the dim light from the old bedside lamp. The skin around his eyes folded as more of his teeth showed. Their movements were quick. Cas's feet matched Dean’s movements beat for beat. As the song came to an end, Dean pulled Cas close and dipped him. They both laughed at Cas's shock.

“Dancing is quite enjoyable,” Cas said as Dean helped him straighten up again.

“When you’ve got the right partner it is,” Dean said.

Cas looked away and took a step back from Dean. After a moment, he seemed to find the words he was looking for. “Is slow dancing that enjoyable, too?”

Dean swallowed.

“It’s a little different, but yeah,” Dean said. He changed the playlist on his phone to some slower songs that he may or may not listen to whenever he was thinking too much about his angel and wanting to wallow in the sensation for a while. After a deep breath, he held out his hand. “Come here, Cas.”

Cas's hand was warmer than Dean’s, warmer than a human’s hand thanks to what was left of his grace burning blue-white hot deep inside him. Dean wrapped his other arm around Cas's lower back and pulled him close so that their chests were almost touching. Being this close to him was something that Dean craved more than he cared to admit. Denying himself this contact hurt something deep in his soul.

He cleared his throat.

“Okay, same principle here,” Dean said. “I move and you follow what I do. We’re closer now so you’ll have to make smaller movements, but it’s the same thing.”

Cas took to this method of dancing much faster. He watched Dean’s eyes, face, and lips then his feet, legs, and hips moved in echo of Dean’s movements.

Watching Cas learn to move was entrancing.

They continued moving together like this, close enough to breathe in the heat from each other’s bodies for another handful of songs. Long enough that Dean’s head started getting muffled with want and fantasy.

He cleared his throat.

“We should, uh, practice with you leading this time,” Dean said.

“Okay,” Cas said.

Dean moved his right arm from around Cas's lower back so that it was curled around Cas's shoulders instead. He turned their left hands so their positions were reversed. Dean’s breath stilled in his lungs when Cas wrapped his arm around Dean’s lower back and tugged Dean close enough for their chests to touch.

“Like this?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, just like this,” Dean said.

The air between them grew heavy and humid. Cas turned toward Dean and brushed the tip of his nose along Dean’s cheek. Dean closed his eyes and Cas started to move them in a circle.

In years past, Dean had fucked around with a few guys. Mostly quick restroom hookups or threesomes with frisky girls involved too. Years ago, he came to accept that he was attracted to men, women, and other people that didn’t fit into such narrow definitions—like the angel in his arms. This was the first time Dean had done something as bland and normal as dancing with another guy, though. Sure it was in the privacy of their motel room with the door locked and curtains drawn, but it made something in him settle and ache for opportunities he’d missed out on over the years under the guise of protecting himself.

“Dean,” Cas whispered against Dean’s cheek. His chapped lips brushed over Dean’s stubble and the sensation made Dean’s knees weak.

“I know, Cas,” Dean said.

Cas pulled back and tried to capture Dean’s mouth in a kiss.

Dean gripped Cas's shoulders and took a step away from him. He let out a slow, unsteady breath with his eyes on the ceiling, then forced himself to meet Cas's eyes. They were filled with pain and confusion. Dean’s brain took an immediate snapshot of that look to hide away in the darkest parts that came out to torment him when he was alone and down on himself.

“I thought…” Cas let go of Dean and looked away.

“Can we talk about this when we get home?” Dean asked.

Cas stared up at Dean from beneath his eyebrows. His features hardened right before he tore out of Dean’s grasp and started to walk away.

“Unbelievable.” Cas shook his head. He looked around their motel room like he’d misplaced something vital and needed to find it as soon as possible. He ran both of his hands through his hair before snatching his keys to the room from the table where he’d thrown them. “I’ll be leaving, then.”

Cas went for the door.

“Cas, wait.” Dean barely managed to push the door to their motel room closed again. He bracketed his arms around Cas. It took his full body weight leaning on the door to discourage Cas from ripping it open. His breath gathered in a bundle of nerves in his chest, and his next words rushed out in a panic. “Cas, please.”

Cas whirled around in Dean’s arms. His hair was ruffled in all directions. His glare was icy and sharp. He reminded Dean of a very angry cat.

“Let me leave, Dean.” Cas was short enough that he had to look up into Dean’s eyes when he spoke, but his tone when he was this angry always made Dean feel three feet shorter.

The rage and hurt coating Cas’s words left Dean feeling like this might be the only shot he had to do something wildly stupid. If he let Cas leave this hotel room, if Dean allowed himself to chicken out again, they might never get to a moment like this again.

“I can’t do that,” Dean said.

He let go of the door and grabbed hold of Cas instead. One hand in the angel’s hair the other curled just below his ribcage. Their mouths met a fraction of a second before their bodies. Dean’s fingers tightened reflexively as he kissed Cas with every bit of energy and passion he’d kept locked away for nearly a decade since Cas had pulled him from Hell.

The kiss hurt. Too much teeth, not enough tongue or lips. The years Dean had spent imagining it and psyching himself up for this moment didn’t come close to just how _good_ a bad kiss could be when it was with the right person. When it was Cas he was kissing and not someone whose name Dean didn’t know.

Dean pulled away and pressed their foreheads together.

“Please,” Dean pleaded. “Can we talk about this when we get back to the bunker?”

Cas growled. “What is there to talk about, Dean?”

“Everything, Cas,” Dean said. “I want things with you I’ve never wanted with anyone else, not this badly. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Dean let go of Cas again and put his hands back on the door. He studied the floor between them then looked up into Cas's eyes.

“Why do we have to wait?” Cas asked.

Dean shook his head. “This case. It’s fucking with my head too much, dredging up all kinds of memories, and I don’t know if I’m in the right place to do this right now.” He paused. “No, I know I’m not.”

Cas stared at him. The spark in his eyes told Dean just how pissed he was, but there was forgiveness in there too. Somewhere under Cas's temper he accepted what Dean was telling him. Then Cas was reaching up to cup Dean’s cheek. He leaned in for another kiss, and Dean turned away.

That simple movement, turning his head, was like tearing out his own heart with his blunt fingernails. Dean needed to be sure that he was ready to long haul life with Cas. He needed to be positive that his own lust and touch starved nature wasn’t pushing him to fuck up the best thing he had going in his life. Cas deserved for Dean to be sure about this. They both did.

“Dean,” Cas said. His words were calm like the ocean covering a dangerous riptide. “I can understand you wanting to wait to talk, but do you really expect me—us—to wait until we’re back at the bunker to share another kiss? After all this time you want us to wait after one kiss where I was caught off guard?”

Dean swallowed. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Cas ran his tongue over his lower lip and caught Dean’s gaze. “Will you kiss me again?”

Dean’s breath was unsteady as it slipped from his lungs and out his mouth. He nodded. Then Cas's fingers were in Dean’s hair, and his mouth was against Dean’s and they were kissing again. Another apocalypse could be coming to fruition outside of their hotel room and neither would have noticed as their lips came together again.

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas's body and pulled him close enough that he could practically feel the outline of Cas's ribcage on his own.

They kissed and they kissed until Dean’s lips started to go numb.

He pulled away from the kiss to press his nose against Cas's cheek.

“You really want this?” Dean asked.

“Dean,” Cas said. “I’ve wanted to be near you in any way you would let me since I saw the light of your soul in Hell.”

Dean swallowed hard. His eyes burned as he captured Cas's mouth again. He kissed his thanks into Cas's mouth. His thanks for Cas rescuing him from Hell. For putting up with Dean’s crap for so many years. For just being there even in times when Sam couldn’t even stand to be around him.

Dean kissed him for all the times when he hadn’t had the courage to tell Cas how much he loved him. Including this moment.

 

* * *

 

 

(Art by [sevenspirals](http://sevenspirals.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr)


	17. Love Scene -- NSFW

“You sure you want this?” Dean asked again as he pulled away from Cas's mouth. He knew he was being redundant, but this was Cas, and it was too important to fuck up by rushing into things.

Cas raised an eyebrow and stared Dean down. Then, before Dean had a chance to say anything else, Cas took hold of him and spun them so Dean’s back slammed into the wall.

“Is this where you tell me that you want me to know you’ll still respect me in the morning?” Cas asked.

“That’s not…”

Cas leaned in close enough for his lips to brush against Dean’s earlobe.

“You should show me some respect,” Cas said with a growl. Dean let out a shaky, heated breath. Cas pulled back to stare into Dean’s eyes. “I am not a child, Dean. Do not underestimate me or my ability to make decisions for myself.”

“I know,” Dean said. He found himself nodding like a bobblehead doll. “This is important, though. I need— Cas, I can’t do this with you only once. I need you too much for that. I gotta be sure.”

Cas's expression was dumbfounded. His eyes widened as he started to shake his head. Dean thought back to first meeting him in that barn all those years ago and the incredulous look he’d given Dean when he realized Dean didn’t believe he should be saved.

“Do you really think I could love someone else?” Cas asked. Dean swallowed and didn’t answer. He didn’t want to hope. It felt like _everything_ was teetering on the edge of a cliff and one deep breath would send him over the edge. “Dean Winchester, you are an idiot.”

Then Cas's mouth was back on his. Cas growled into the kiss, making Dean’s lips buzz under his touch. Dean grabbed Cas by the shoulder blades. His fingertips dug into the thin fabric of the t-shirt Cas had borrowed from him.

This was something Dean could understand. This was a language he was fluent in.

He rolled his hips against Cas’s, making Cas pull away from the kiss to drop his head back. Dean nosed at the skin just under Cas's jaw and started to suck up a mark. He pushed away from the wall and walked Cas backwards through their room to the bed.

When the back of Cas's knees met the edge of the bed, Dean moved his hands down to Cas's waist and began to kiss his way to Cas's ear.

“I want to try something,” Dean whispered as he undid the angel’s belt and fly. “Want to watch you come undone on my tongue.”

Dean dropped to his knees and lowered Cas's pants in one go.

Cas grunted in surprise. His blue eyes were cartoon-character-wide as he stared down at Dean.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” Dean said. He hooked his fingers into the band of Cas's boxers and pulled them down slowly. His eyes stayed pinned to Cas's the whole time. Cas's erection bobbed in front of Dean’s mouth. The sound Cas made when Dean licked the head of his cock was going to haunt Dean’s fantasies and sex dreams for years to come. He pushed against Cas's surprisingly thick, muscular thighs. “You should lay down.”

Cas collapsed onto the mattress. “I don’t…”

Dean smoothed his palm over Cas's hip. “I know. Let me take care of you for a while.”

Cas nodded. He was propped up on his elbows and his neck was craned so he could watch every move Dean made.

Dean winked at him.

If Cas wanted a show, he’d get a show.

First, Dean nudged Cas's balls with the tip of his nose and followed it with the flat part of his tongue. Cas groaned. Dean continued licking his way from Cas's balls up the soft, heated skin of his shaft. He traced nonsense patterns along the main vein of Cas's cock. Side to side, small circles, and long, torturous lines. Cas was muttering in Enochian and gripping the bedspread with white knuckles.

Dean hovered just below the tip of Cas's cock. His breath ghosted over the slit where a bead of precome was resting. Cas's cock flexed forward like it was reaching for Dean’s mouth.

Dean turned away and started in on Cas's hipbones. Cas cursed at him in English. Dean chuckled before he drug his teeth over the sensitive skin stretched thin over Cas's hipbones.

Cas thrust his hips against Dean’s mouth and flopped back onto the bed. Dean kissed his way from one hip to the other before dragging his teeth over that one as well, earning him more cursing and frustrated moans.

Cas reached out and grabbed hold of Dean’s hair. Dean’s eyes slipped closed at the sensation.

“Dean, please,” Cas said.

Fuck, there was no way for him to resist a plea like that.

Dean nodded. Each tug against his sensitive scalp as he moved sent shivers down his spine.

He moved to get his mouth around the head of Cas's cock. Cas hissed in surprise. Dean lapped up the bead of precome then swirled his tongue around the whole head. Cas's grip on Dean’s hair tightened. Dean hummed. He flattened his tongue and relaxed his mouth as he sunk down on Cas's cock.

The fingers of his left hand dug into Cas's hip. Dean hoped there would be bruises there in the morning. His right hand was curled around the base of Cas's cock keeping it steady as he moved up and down.

He hadn’t lied when he told Cas he was out of practice when it came to sucking dick. The last time he’d done it with any regularity was the blowjobs he’d exchanged with Benny in purgatory. And he still wasn’t sure if anything sexual he’d done while a he was a demon counted. His demon self had no shame and few boundaries.

He loosened his grip on Cas's cock and challenged himself to take more of it into his mouth to distract him from that line of thinking. None of that mattered. Not when he finally had Cas partially naked and willing beneath him.

His eyes watered. Saliva ran over Cas's skin making the slip and slide of Dean’s hand smoother. His throat fought against him attempting to swallow Cas down, but that didn’t stop him from trying again. Damn, he loved doing this. All of that combined with Cas's tight-enough-to-bruise grip on his hair was making Dean start to worry he’d come in his jeans before he even got his shirt off.

“Dean,” Cas pleaded. The grip on Dean’s hair turned to tugging, then pulling. “I’m close. Please. I don’t want to stop here.”’

Dean pulled off of Cas's cock. His lips were swollen and spit slick. He pressed his forehead against Cas's hipbone while he fought to catch his breath. Cas released his hair and started to smooth his fingers through Dean’s hair.

Dean swallowed. Then he lifted his head to look at Cas's face. Cas's pupils were blown wide, making his eyes look midnight blue. He was panting though he didn’t need to breathe. Dean wanted to devour him on the spot. Take him apart in every way he knew how before learning a thousand more ways to do it.

“Tell me how far you want to go,” Dean said.

“Everything,” Cas said.

Dean nodded.

He stood up and peeled off his shirt.

“Get naked,” Dean said. “I’ll get the lube.”

Cas's throat bobbed.

Dean turned away so he had a chance to get to the lube. He stripped out of the rest of his clothes after changing the playlist then closed his eyes and took a moment to collect himself. This was really happening.

Led Zeppelin filtered through the room around them from Dean’s shitty cellphone speakers. It was a song he’d had sex to hundreds of times with many different people. One of the first songs he’d ever identified as being sexy. Which led him to seek out precious, rare moments alone to replay the lyrics in his memory while exploring his maturing body. A song that always made him a little hard when it came on in Baby. One that brought up flashbacks to memorable encounters with his various lovers—temporary and more regular—over the years. But tonight? Being able to have sex to this song with Cas? Dean was ruined for life in this moment. Nothing could top this.

When Dean got back to the bed, Cas was completely naked and resting with his back against the headboard. Dean stopped in his tracks and dragged his gaze over Cas's body. He’d be lying to himself and the world if he said he hadn’t taken a good, long look at Cas's naked body when he’d shown up covered in bees on the Impala all those years ago.

Cas wasn’t so much covered in bees at that time as he had a handful of bees happily walking all over his naked skin. Jimmy Novak had taken care of his body despite his boring job, but it was still soft and small. That’s the way Dean remembered Cas's naked body when he was trying not to think of the angel when jerking off.

But now? The muscular thighs Dean had noticed earlier weren’t the only improvements to Cas's body since the bee incident. The hipbones Dean had spent so much time worshiping were highlighted by Cas's etched in marble stomach muscles. His ribcage was accented by the Enochian tattoo he’d gotten to ward himself against angels. His arms were large and solid with muscle striping his forearms. He looked like even if he lost his grace forever he still had a chance at holding Dean up against a wall while he fucked into him.

Dean swayed in place.

“Di—Did, uh, Sam show you where the gym is in the bunker?” Dean asked as he made his way over to the bed.

Cas nodded. “He said it might help me clear my head when I’m troubled. I use it mostly at night when you are sleeping.”

Dean nodded uselessly.

He owed his brother something in thanks for that. Like an Amazon gift card, or flowers, or maybe his own car. Son of a bitch.

“I’ve never… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Cas said.

Dean blinked. “What?”

“I’ve watched porn with two men before,” Cas said. “But I was not able to discern how to prepare myself to receive your penis inside me. I was led to believe lubrication is involved.”

Dean laughed.

He crawled onto the bed and moved to straddle Cas's legs. Cas looked up at him with his confused puppy expression. Dean leaned close enough that he could kiss his ridiculous angel. The kiss was slow, warm, and wet. He cupped Cas's cheek in one hand as they kissed. Cas's hands landed on Dean’s hips. Dean smiled into the kiss. He rolled his hips enough to grind down on Cas's cock. Cas gasped into Dean’s mouth. His fingers tightened on Dean’s hips and he ground his cock up against Dean.

“I want you to top me tonight,” Dean said between kisses.

“Really?” Cas asked. He pulled away from Dean’s kiss and tilted his head. “But I assumed…”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, lesson number one about sex. Don’t assume anything.”

“My research led me to believe you’d be a top,” Cas said. “All of your posturing and your experience with sexual encounters—.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said. He settled back to sit on Cas's thighs. “Look, I enjoy fucking someone as much as I enjoy getting fucked. There’s no bottom or top or whatever in my world, it’s pleasure and what mood I’m in with the person I’m with.” He studied Cas's confused expression and ran his fingertips down Cas's chest. “If you’d rather bottom, I can definitely work with that.”

“I don’t… I don’t know what I prefer,” Cas said.

Dean nodded. He leaned forward and bracketed Cas's face with his hands.

“Then we’ll explore that another time,” Dean said. He brushed a light kiss over Cas's mouth then whispered against his lips. “Tonight I really want you to fuck me.”

Cas's cock flexed to brush against the inside of Dean’s thighs. Dean smiled against Cas's lips.

“Show me,” Cas said.

“Okay.”

Dean reached over to grab the bottle of lube. He slicked his fingers and reached around himself. Cas grabbed hold of Dean’s forearm before Dean could reach his hole. Dean raised his eyebrows as Cas's grip tightened.

“I said, show me,” Cas said.

Dean cursed under his breath.

“You want me to turn around?” Dean asked.

Cas shook his head. His grip tightened briefly once more. Dean’s eyes slipped closed of their own accord. They opened again when Cas released his forearm and popped open the bottle of lube. Cas poured lube on his fingers and mimicked Dean’s motions from earlier to spread the liquid around. 

“Show me like this,” Cas said after he dropped the closed lube bottle onto the bed next to them.

“Fuck,” Dean whispered.

Their fingers moved together to slide over Dean’s hole. Dean moaned at the touch. They traced over the furls of his skin. First his fingers, then Cas's, and his again. He didn’t notice that he’d closed his eyes again until Cas shifted forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. Dean’s jaw dropped. He panted as he stared into Cas's eyes while they touched him.

“What next?” Cas asked.

“Let’s start with one finger.” Dean swallowed. “I’ll go first.”

Cas nodded seriously.

Dean pushed against his hole with his index finger. This was something he was not out of practice with. Touching himself like this was something he enjoyed and did as often as he had the time. Usually his thoughts would stray to the curious angel beneath him whether Dean meant them to or not.

He worked himself open with that first finger then added his middle finger. It tweaked his shoulder a bit to stretch like this, but the sensation of it all—the stretch and the fullness—made it worth it.

Cas slipped one of his fingers in between both of Dean’s. Dean closed his eyes while he rode their fingers. He’d dreamed of having Cas touch him like this, explore his body this way. Another one of Cas's fingers traced around the edge of Dean’s rim. Dean’s breath came faster.

Then the fingers of Cas's other hand started rubbing circles against the skin between Dean’s balls and his hole. At the same time Cas's finger found Dean’s prostate and mimicked the movements as best he could inside Dean.

Dean cried out.

Cas chuckled. “I lied.”

Dean blinked at him while panting. “What?”

“I’ve watched humans copulate for longer than you’ve had organized civilizations,” Cas said. He ran his teeth over Dean’s bottom lip. “Thank you for showing me how you like to be touched, though.”

"Oh, you devious little fucker," Dean said with a groan. “Just get inside me already, holy shit.”

Cas pressed harder against Dean’s perineum behind Dean’s balls. Dean’s vision started to white out.

“Are you sure?” Cas asked.

“Yes, asshole.” Dean pulled their fingers from inside him. “Since you’re so smart all of a sudden, why don’t you show me what you can do and fuck me.”

Cas smiled. He reached over to grab the bottle of lube. Dean watched impatiently as Cas slicked up his cock. Watching Cas's hand twist and stroke like that made Dean want to sit back and stare while Cas finished himself off. Another time. That was definitely something they’d have to do. 

Cas closed the bottle and tossed it in the direction of the bedside table. From the clattering sound it made, it didn’t make it, but Dean didn’t care. 

Eventually, Dean got impatient and pulled Cas's hand off his cock. He moved forward so the head of Cas's cock was teasing at his hole. They were back into territory Dean was rusty with. Sure, he had a stash of toys he used on himself when he had the time and the bunker to himself, but those sessions were few and far between. No matter how realistic the sculpt, a toy couldn’t mimic the real thing. Not fully.

They moaned together as the head of Cas's cock breached his hole. Dean ground his teeth together against the stretch. Pain and pleasure lighting his skin on fire from the inside out.

“You feel…,” Cas's eyes slipped closed and his head fell back. “Oh, Dean.”

“Uh huh,” Dean said. Watching Cas's cockiness melt away as he experienced pleasure firsthand left Dean feeling invigorated. “It’s different when you’re not just a kinky spectator, huh?”

“You’re infuriating,” Cas said through gritted teeth. He blinked at Dean and settled his hands on Dean’s hips. “Move or I will move you.”

Dean swallowed.

Of course Cas would be bossy in bed. If this was just another dream, Dean would do some serious damage to whatever woke him up from it. Especially if he woke up before they both got to come.

He kept his eyes trained on Cas's face as he slowly, oh so slowly, sunk down on Cas's cock. He took in every time Cas's eyes closed. The furrow in his brow. The way his tongue ran over his bottom lip. They both groaned once Dean was fully seated on him.

“Oh fuck, Cas,” Dean said. He rolled his hips just enough to feel Cas stretching him. “This is not going to last very long.”

Cas whimpered. “Me either.”

Dean’s hand settled on Cas's shoulders as he started to rise and fall and curl his hips this way and that. Every shift of his body, every movement made Cas's cock touch a different part inside him. Each time he tightened around Cas one or both of them moaned. Whenever the head of Cas's cock brushed over Dean’s prostate he wanted to freeze in place and let the spike of pleasure settle deep into the marrow of his bones. At the same time it made him want to move faster to bring them both closer to climax.

“Kiss me,” Dean said.

His grip on Cas's shoulders tightened. His thighs were starting to shake from the strain. His knee that was starting to ache in the mornings was protesting their activities, loudly. But Dean didn’t care. All he cared about was making sure Cas enjoyed this just as much, if not more, than he did.

Cas wrapped his arms around Dean’s lower back as he sat up to meet Dean’s mouth with his own. Dean hummed into the kiss. The roll of his hips slowed to shallow grinding as his hands slid around the back of Cas's neck and into Cas's unruly, dark hair. Their kiss was slow and deep.

Cas reached between them and grabbed hold of Dean’s cock with his lube slicked hand. Dean gasped at the touch. His eyes fell closed as Cas brushed his thumb over the head.

“You’re awe inspiring like this,” Cas said in a hushed voice.

Dean pressed his forehead to Cas's cheek. He continued to ride Cas. Curling his spine to thrust into Cas's hand then back again to grind the head of Cas's cock against his prostate. His world narrowed to those two points of pleasure. Forward and back. Up and down. His body trembled as his muscles began to tighten.

“Fuck… Cas,” Dean said as his orgasm rolled through him.

How many times had he dreamed of doing this over the years? Of riding Cas until he was coming all over the angel’s stomach. Of marking up his angel with streaks of his cum. Of watching Cas's face react to Dean’s body tightening and pulsing around him. Of feeling Cas's fingernails dig into his skin as Cas chased his own pleasure using Dean’s body. He’d lost count, but none of those dreams came close to just how good and right it all felt in reality.

“Dean,” Cas said as he stroked Dean’s cock through Dean’s orgasm. Cas pressed kisses against Dean’s sweat covered temple, cheek, and hairline. “You feel so good.”

Dean’s body draped lax against Cas's cum-streaked chest. He took hold of Cas's hand and gently pulled it from his oversensitive cock. Cas curled his fingers into a self-conscious fist and he tried removing his cum-covered hand from Dean’s embrace. Dean shifted back, Cas's still hard cock nudging all the hypersensitive nerve endings inside him as he moved. Dean lifted Cas's fist to his face and began to lick his cum from Cas's skin as he stared into Cas's eyes. Cas muttered in Enochian and his eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones like he was struggling to keep his eyes open to watch what Dean was doing.

“Your turn,” Dean said. He moved Cas's hand so it was curled around Dean’s hipbone. “I want you to use me for your pleasure now.”

Cas's grip tightened on Dean’s hip. His eyes darted over Dean’s body and the bed around them. “I don’t… what do I do?”

“Lean back,” Dean said. “Good, just like that. Now move your feet here.” His breath punched out of him as Cas's cock shifted in him to press hard against Dean’s prostate again. “Fuck, okay. See how much more leverage you have at that angle?”

“Yeah.” Cas nodded. He reached up with his other hand and grabbed hold of Dean’s shoulder. The shoulder Dean used to wear Cas's brand on. He held Dean’s hips in place as he slowly pulled his cock most of the way out of Dean then thrust back in one smooth motion.

“Yeah babe, come on,” Dean said. His body and mind were reeling as Cas took him at his word and really started to use Dean’s body to chase down his own pleasure. Soon, Cas's rhythm started to falter. The muscles on Cas's stomach started to flex and his fingers were curling compulsively into Dean’s flesh. “That’s it. Come on, Cas, come for me.”

Cas cried out as he thrust deeply a few more times before pushing deeper than before and holding himself there as he started to fill Dean with his cum.

Dean tipped his head back. That was a new feeling for him. He’d never been with someone he trusted enough to take bare like this. With a lot of his partners he was too afraid of fathering an illegitimate child again. Even with Lisa they’d never gone bare together, though she’d started to ask in the last couple months before they parted ways. And the last thing he’d wanted to do was have his angel best friend heal him from a nasty STD because he got sloppy with his sexual health.

Feeling the pulsing of Cas's cock inside him was different. He could feel the wetness of Cas's cum spurt against the more sensitized parts inside him and spill out beneath him. The whole experience of feeling the silky warmth of Cas's bare skin inside him was something he’d savor. This was his new favorite thing. It was filthy and would make a huge mess, but Dean was already trying to figure out the next time he could feel this.

When Cas's cock softened enough to slip from Dean’s body it was followed by a pool of Cas's cooling cum. Dean dropped his head forward to rest against Cas's collarbone. His cock twitched at the memory of everything they’d just done and a part of him wished for the refractory period he’d had in his early twenties so they could try for round two immediately.

“We are doing that again,” Dean said as they shifted to stretch out into more comfortable positions on the bed. Their legs ended up intertwined with Dean’s head resting on Cas's chest and their arms wrapped around each other. “And it’s gonna happen soon, because holy fuck.”

Cas hummed. “I’m not sure I’m all that holy anymore, but yes.”

Dean snorted.

Cas grabbed his discarded, borrowed t-shirt and used it to wipe up Dean’s cum from his stomach and chest. He moved to clean up Dean, but Dean waved him off.

“Are you sure?” Cas asked. “We made a mess.”

Dean’s eyes felt heavy and his words were sluggish with encroaching sleep. “It’s a good mess.”

Cas put the shirt back where he’d found it. Then kissed Dean’s forehead. “Whatever you say, Dean.”

It was the last thing Dean heard before he fell into a deep sleep.


	18. Library

Castiel glared at the pages of the open book in front of him. He’d found nothing in these books about God’s class of enforcer angels. A few angels Castiel knew once belonged in that class were mentioned in various places--Naomi, Kushiel, Bartholomew, Samael, and Zadkiel--but there was nothing in these human texts to tie them together. There was nothing to explain why he’d found traces of an enforcer’s grace on the smiting victim.

There was also nothing to explain how one of his angelic brothers or sisters could come back as a ghost or successfully pose as one. It wasn’t even a trick Gabriel was known for using before his death.

Across from Castiel, Sam had his tablet and two books from the library open for reference. Mary sat next to Sam on Dean’s laptop, she was looking through notes from the crime scenes.

Sam had taken one look at Castiel and Dean after they’d come out of their hotel room that morning and immediately pulled Dean away. Castiel could tell Sam had yelled at Dean for something, but he didn’t know what. When he’d asked Dean about it afterward, Dean said that Sam had read a situation wrong, and Dean would explain it soon.

For now, it appeared Castiel was Dean’s secret.

_His dirty little secret_ , Crowley’s voice sing-songed in Castiel’s head.

Castiel scowled at the demon’s words and forced any thoughts about last night or this morning from his mind. Which was hard to do with Dean sitting next to him. 

Dean was tapping his pen against his notebook while reading through one of the books from the bunker that he kept in the trunk of the Impala.

Castiel looked around the library. There were several other tables and padded armchairs spread throughout the room. It was more crowded than any of them had anticipated, though not many of the people here were actually reading books from the library itself. A couple people were on their own laptops doing what Castiel assumed was classwork. A gray haired man had a thick paperback book resting, open and face down on his stomach while he slept in a corner chair.

The rustling of a plastic bag caught Castiel's attention. A man sitting next to the large bank of windows on the far wall was fighting to open a bag of chips. Once the bag was open, he began to eat them, loudly.

Castiel went back to staring at his own book. His wings twitched in irritation. If only he could still fly he might be able to consult some of the friendlier angels on the case. Get more answers. They needed to keep more people from dying.

“You doing okay?” Dean asked in a hushed voice as he nudged Castiel with his knee.

Castiel sighed. “I’m fine.”

He could feel Dean staring at him and did his best to ignore it. Maybe there was something he’d missed in that last chapter he’d skimmed in the book.

Dean huffed then flipped his and Castiel's books closed.

Castiel glared at him.

“Cas and I are going to go get coffee or something,” Dean said to Sam and Mary. “You guys want anything?”

They both shook their heads no.

Dean gestured for Castiel to follow him away from the tables.

“Dean,” Cas said from his seat. “We need answers.”

“You need coffee,” Dean said as he pointed at Cas. “Besides, Sam and Mom have this covered, right guys?”

“Right,” Sam said absently as he typed.

Castiel rolled his eyes and stood up from the table. Dean took off as soon as he saw Castiel was beginning to stand.

Instead of heading for the small coffee shop within the library, like Castiel expected, Dean made a left at the first hallway they came across. He was walking fast enough that Castiel barely saw him go through a large, open doorway just as Castiel reached the opening of the hallway.

Castiel rolled his eyes again and followed after his lover.

_His lover_. 

A smile tugged at his lips. That thought brightened his mood momentarily. Even if Castiel was a secret, he was enjoying everything they did. So long as he didn’t think about why Dean didn’t want to share the change in their relationship he was fine.

Everything was fine.

Castiel made his way through the doorway Dean disappeared down and realized it led to a stairwell. His wings stretched out in an attempt to keep his balance as someone grabbed hold of his tie and used it to pull him forward. The next thing he knew another mouth was on his demanding a kiss.

Castiel moaned into the kiss as Dean wrapped Castiel's tie in his fist. His other hand wrapped around Castiel's lower back and pulled him until they were flush against each other. Dean backed up against a wall. He grunted into Castiel’s mouth from the force of the contact.

The hard length of Dean’s erection pressed against Castiel’s thigh. Dean’s breath hitched when Castiel rolled his hips to grind them against each other.

Castiel reached up to press both of his palms against the wall on either side of Dean’s head then he smiled into the kiss before deepening it. His wings stretched out until the tips of them brushed the wall behind Dean keeping them shielded from the world. 

Dean trembled against him. 

This was so much better than coffee. Of all the human experiences Dean had introduced him to over the years, this—kissing Dean—topped the list of Castiel's favorites. He’d never feel the same sexual drive that Dean seemed to feel, the need to touch and writhe with someone else as often as possible, but it was a sensation Castiel embraced with enthusiasm.

He bit Dean’s lower lip making the human, who’d changed the course of Castiel's entire existence, whine. Heaven’s rules be damned, Castiel loved this man.

Dean tore away from the kiss with a groan and tilted his head back against the wall.

Castiel stared at him. He took in the flush spread over Dean’s cheeks and the way it made his freckles stand out even more than usual. The swell of Dean’s lips, slick and shiny with their shared saliva stole his attention next. When Dean opened his eyes again his pupils were wide, making the green nothing more than a jeweled sliver.

Castiel smiled at his handiwork.

The tie slipped from Dean’s fingers. Dean smoothed his palm down Castiel's chest before moving to grip Castiel's hip bones.

“Fuck,” Dean said in a soft voice. His throat bobbed and his mouth hung open as he fought to catch his breath. “That turned out to be exactly as hot as I’d imagined it would be.”

“What was it you imagined, Dean?” Castiel asked. He leaned in closer as he spoke. Their torsos brushed together, and Castiel could feel the warmth radiating off of Dean’s cheek as he slowly drug the tip of his nose over Dean’s skin. “Was it the kiss? Or having me crowd you against a wall like this?”

“Whoever painted angels as innocent, peaceful creatures was a lying asshole,” Dean said with a snort.

Castiel leaned back so he could meet Dean’s eyes. His smile widened as he spoke. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh,” Dean said. His grip on Castiel's hips tightened for a moment before he pushed Castiel away from him. “I’m gonna need a minute to get fit for public again and having you all up on me is not helping that. At all.”

Castiel leaned against the opposite railing for the stairs then folded his arms and wings. Dean’s cheeks grew darker and redder the longer they stood there.

Dean cleared his throat and gestured at Castiel.

“It was the, uh, the tie thing,” Dean said.

“Tie thing?” Castiel asked. He knew damn well what Dean meant, but he also knew Dean enjoyed these teachable moments.

Dean blew out a breath through his teeth and met Castiel's eyes.

“Grabbing you by the tie and using it to pull you into a kiss,” Dean said. “That tie thing.”

Castiel hummed.

“And how long have you been imagining that?”

“Years.” Dean’s voice was rough like he’d been screaming himself hoarse for days. His gaze slid over Castiel’s body from head to toe.

Dean’s throat bobbed. Then he pushed away from the wall and moved into Castiel’s personal space. He leaned closer enough to whisper in Castiel’s ear.

“We should get out of here before I drop to my knees and try to see if I can make you come in my mouth before someone finds us,” Dean said. He took a step back and grinned at Castiel.

A shiver ran down Castiel’s spine. The feathers on his wings ruffled as he swallowed hard. Why was that thought so enticing?

Dean winked at him, then reached out to take Castiel’s hand and led him down the stairs. Castiel expected Dean to drop his hand once they were in public again, under the watchful eye of other people, but he didn’t. If anything, Dean’s grip tightened as he led them on a weaving path through bookcases and around small children to the glass doors leading outside.

Dean took a deep breath once they were outside. He smiled as he lifted his face toward the sky above them.

Castiel narrowed his eyes.

“What?” Dean asked when he opened his eyes again to look at Castiel.

“You’re in a very peculiar mood today,” Castiel said.

Dean’s smile shrunk a little around the edges. He nodded, and Castiel cursed himself for saying anything.

“I’m nervous,” Dean said. He lifted their hands as they started to walk deeper into the heart of the historic district a few blocks from the theater where they’d seen Dillon’s ghost. “This is… this is the happiest I’ve been in years. Maybe the happiest I’ve been ever. And all I’m doing is holding your hand and walking around a strange town where no one knows who we are or what we do.”

Castiel frowned. “You’re nervous and you’re happy?”

“I’m happy because I can finally do things like kiss you and hold your hand and call you beautiful just because I feel like it without having to bury the urge,” Dean said. “And I’m nervous because I don’t want to fuck this up. I don’t want to hide you or how I feel about you anymore, but I also want to enjoy it for a while before I have to hear Sam and Mom talk about how they told me so.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say to that. He squeezed Dean’s hand.

They reached the town square. It was a block of land covered in green grass and towering trees with a government building prominent in the center and old war memorial statues scattered along the edges.

They walked to a bench beneath the canopy of trees and sat down.

Dean’s thumb traced lazy patterns over Castiel’s knuckles. The park was thrumming with activity. There were people walking their dogs, people napping in the grass, students studying, children giggling, tourists snapping pictures, and birds singing to each other. This was exactly the kind of spot Castiel used to find peace in. A place he’d come to so he could watch humanity and the rest of his father’s creations exist and thrive. Today, Castiel couldn’t look away from Dean’s hand holding onto his.

Dean chuckled.

Castiel finally looked away from their hands and met Dean’s eyes. “What?”

“You were right,” Dean said. “Sometimes it’s really easy to see when someone is thinking loudly without being able to read minds.”

Castiel grunted and looked away.

“There is something on your mind though. Is it the case?” Dean asked. He tightened his grip on Castiel’s hand. “Is it this?”

Castiel’s lips quirked. 

“You are, as ever, on my mind, Dean, but this is not what’s weighing heavy on my thoughts today,” Castiel said.

“So it’s the case,” Dean said. “Are you finally ready to tell me what you’ve been hiding from the rest of us about it?”

Castiel turned to Dean and blinked. Dean lifted an eyebrow as he stared back.

“I haven’t been hiding anything,” Castiel said. 

“Call it what you want,” Dean said. “I’m not mad, but there’s something you noticed about this case that you’re not sharing.”

Castiel sighed.

“There was something on the smiting victim’s body,” Castiel said. His wings folded tight against his back. 

“What was it?” Dean asked.

“A grace signature,” Castiel said. “Every angel has a unique grace signature.”

“Like a fingerprint or something?” Dean asked.

“A bit,” Castiel said. “It would be closer to DNA or a blood type, really. You can identify the specific angel responsible by their grace signature, but you can also tell what class of angel they belong to.”

“Are we talking geometry class here or bourgeoisie?” Dean asked.

Castiel chuckled.

“I mean classes like Seraphim, Archangels,” Castiel said. “Fallen angels, too. Falling changes an angel’s grace signature from what it once was.”

Dean tilted his head and held up his other hand. His index finger pointed at the sky as he seemed to be searching for his words.

“So if grace is like a blood type, does that mean when you were siphoning grace off other angels that some of the grace worked better than others for keeping you going because of the class of angel you took it from?” Dean asked. 

Castiel opened his mouth and frowned.

“I suppose so, yes,” Castiel said. “I was more worried about freeing you from the Mark of Cain than I was about how long the grace I stole was lasting me.”

“Okay, rule number one if we’re gonna do this,” Dean said as he gestured between the two of them with his index finger. “You need to embrace your survival skills. Saving me? Saving Sam and Mom and kittens stuck up in trees? That’s great, but you gotta save yourself too, man.”

Castiel looked up at the sky for a moment, pretending to think it over.

“I suppose,” Castiel said with an exaggerated sigh. 

“Asshole,” Dean said before pulling Castiel in for a quick kiss. Their foreheads pressed together as Dean held Castiel by the back of the neck, his thumb tracing over Castiel’s skin. “I’m serious.”

“I’ll be more careful,” Castiel said. “If you promise to do the same.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said. He patted Castiel on the shoulder before pulling away. “So, what did you notice about the grace signature on the smiting victim’s body? Did you recognize the angel who did it?”

Castiel shook his head. 

“I recognized the class of angel,” Castiel said. “The angel who smote that man belonged to the class of angels who worked as my father’s enforcers. Behind their backs we called them _The Royal Guard_.”

“They sound fun,” Dean said with a slow shake of his head and sarcasm coating his words like honey. “So, what, they stand around in funny hats when Chuck’s home?”

“No,” Castiel said. “They exacted punishment on other angels and souls my father thought were in need of particularly brutal treatment.”

“Great,” Dean said. “So now we’re looking for one of your dad’s old torturers? Is that what you're saying?”

“More or less,” Castiel said. “There was something else, too. About the victim. He was supposed to be an angel vessel.”

“What do you mean supposed to?” Dean asked.

“Certain bloodlines here on Earth were once claimed in Heaven as vessels for specific angels,” Castiel said. “Like you and Sam. Or Jimmy.”

Dean straightened his spine and looked out across the park. 

“Some of the people in those bloodlines wear angelic seals on their bones,” Castiel said. “They’re only visible to angels and fallen angels.”

Dean’s throat bobbed.

“That why Azazel was so quick to kill Sam even though he was supposed to be Lucifer’s ideal vessel?” Dean asked. “Because he couldn’t see the ‘property of Lucifer’ tramp stamp on Sam’s back or something?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. He didn’t bother to point out that Sam’s angelic seal used to be on his right hip. If Castiel had learned anything about Dean in his time on Earth, it was when to not poke wounds related to Sam or test Dean’s protectiveness of his younger brother. “A demon who was never an angel would not be able to see an angelic seal.”

Dean nodded.

“Where’s mine?” Dean asked. “Where did Michael sign me?”

“It was on your left shoulder blade,” Castiel said. “Neither you or Sam have the seals anymore.”

“Why not?” Dean asked as he stared at Castiel. 

“I healed Sam’s when I pulled him from the cage after his time in Hell,” Castiel said. “Yours was obscured on a case when you were attacked by a dog. One of the wounds was deep enough to break up the seal. I chose not to fix it.”

“You broke our angelic tramp stamps?” Dean asked. 

“Yes,” Castiel said. “It doesn’t change your designations in Heaven as vessels for Michael or Lucifer, but… when the opportunity presented itself I found myself unable to leave them intact.”

“Thank you,” Dean said. “So the smiting victim was a vessel? Do we have another angel killer on our hands?”

“He was an angel vessel,” Castiel said. “But it appeared he had never been used as a vessel before.”

“Huh,” Dean said. “Why would these enforcers want to kill an unused vessel? You think they were trying to keep Dillon from getting another body?”

“It’s possible,” Castiel said. “I don’t know if it was possible for Dillon to use a vessel as a ghost. I suppose that’s a moot point now.”

“That’s not all, is it?” Dean asked.

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked. “I didn’t notice anything else on the victim.”

“I’m not saying you did,” Dean said. “But I know you, Mr. Angelic Military Tactician. You’re plotting something that’ll probably piss me off if I find out about it later. So spill.”

Castiel blinked at him. 

“How did you…?” Cas asked.

“One, you just confirmed my suspicions by asking that,” Dean said. “And b, I know you. We’re gonna make your middle name ‘Trouble’ the next time Sam needs to forge us paperwork.”

Castiel rolled his eyes.

“I hadn’t made any definite plans yet,” Castiel said. Dean stared back at him with an unimpressed expression. Castiel swallowed. “I want to use myself as bait.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. He let out a long breath through his nose and looked like he was fighting to rein in his temper.

“You want to, uh, explain that a little more?” Dean said. “Cause saying it like that sounds like you’re trying to kamikaze yourself and that’s just not happening.”

“I do not intend for this to be a suicide mission, Dean,” Cas said. “Naomi was originally part of _The Royal Guard_ , before she was promoted to the intelligence division. As far as I know, that class of angel were never sent to Earth. If they ever were, it was in a very small flocks—like tactical operations in your human military—and only an incredibly few times in the millennia since I began coming here.”

“So the grace signature of one of these assholes showing up on a human vessel isn’t just bad news, it’s terrible news,” Dean said. 

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“And you want to be bait for whoever killed that guy?” Dean asked.

“I do,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, one huge problem with that,” Dean said. “You’re an angel, not an unused angel vessel. I am.”

“I believe they are behind what happened to Dillon too,” Castiel said.

“We have no proof of that,” Dean said. 

“Angels don’t just turn into ghosts, Dean,” Castiel said. “I believe someone did this to him. An enforcer here on Earth at the same time as Dillon becoming a ghost is too much of a coincidence.”

“Look,” Dean said. “We need to be on the same page about our crazy save-the-world plans now. Let’s come up with two plans. One where you’re bait for the big, bad angel torturers and one where I’m bait for whoever is barbecuing unused vessels.”

“That’s a terrible plan,” Castiel said. “But it is the our best option right now.”

Dean nodded.

“Any idea what being bait for these guys entails?” Dean asked. 

“No,” Castiel said. “That’s why I hadn’t fully formed the plan, it was more of an idea. I have no idea how this enforcer is finding their victims or why Dillon was targeted.”

“So we’re back to square one,” Dean said. “Awesome.”

Castiel sighed.

“We’ll figure it out,” Dean said. “Until we’ve got more information, there isn’t much else we can do.”

“You’re right,” Castiel said. 

“We’ll talk it over with Sam and Mom tonight,” Dean said. “Maybe Sam’s super-secret hunter friend has more information on angelic vessels or these enforcer assholes.”

“Who?” Castiel asked.

Dean’s lips quirked.

“Sam’s got someone,” Dean said. “He’s been texting and video chatting with someone, but won’t tell me who. They’re a hunter though, or at least involved in the job somehow because they’ve been giving him information.”

“You sure it’s not the British Men of Letters feeding him information?” Castiel asked.

“I thought that for a little while,” Dean said. “And I think he was working with them for a couple weeks there, but something happened after he and mom went to work a job with them. They both stepped back from what I can tell. Besides, unless one of the Brits can make my brother smile like a lovesick teenager when he thinks I’m not looking, it’s gotta be someone else.”

“Good,” Castiel said.

“That’s what I said,” Dean said. “Anyway, we’ll see if his contact knows anything. Until then, let’s enjoy this.”

Dean lifted their joined hands and brushed a kiss over the back of Castiel’s hand. 

“That sounds like a better plan,” Castiel said. 

“Knew you’d see it my way,” Dean said. He shifted his hips on the park bench. His lips thinned and eyes wrinkled a bit as he winced. Castiel raised his eyebrows. Dean was in pain. Castiel tightened his grip on Dean’s hand and urged some of his grace through Dean’s body, soothing whatever aches and pains he could find.

“Did you just mojo me?” Dean asked with a frown.

“You were in pain,” Castiel said.

Dean chuckled and shook his head.

“What?” Castiel asked.

“Nothing,” Dean said. Castiel continued to stare at him. Something slick and oily like embarrassment curled in the pit of Castiel’s stomach as he watched Dean’s laughter. Dean’s features softened. “You really want to know?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “I don’t enjoy being laughed at for trying to help you.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. He glanced around the park before leaning close enough that Castiel could feel Dean’s warm breath on his ear and the top of his neck. “One of the best parts of sex, for me anyway, is being able to feel it later. The sting of a hickey or nail marks on my back. The bone-deep ache in my ass from where you fucked me. I like it.”

Castiel felt his cheeks heat as Dean settled back in his seat on the park bench with a satisfied smirk.

“You get it now?” Dean asked.

“I think I understand now, yes,” Castiel said. “I’m sorry for taking that pleasure from you without asking first.”

“Don’t worry. You can make it up to me later,” Dean said with a wink.

“We could go back to the motel, and I could make it up to you now,” Castiel said. He wasn’t exactly turned on by the idea, but he’d had an immeasurable amount of fun with Dean in the last twenty-four hours. Watching the man he loved come apart and give himself over to whatever sensation and pleasure Castiel doled out to him was thrilling. 

Dean nodded.

“Sam and Mom can handle the research,” Dean said as he stood and tugged Castiel’s hand, pulling him to his feet. Dean pulled Castiel close enough that their chests brushed and Castiel could make out the different minute colors in Dean’s green eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”

Castiel’s phone rang.

“Dammit, who the hell is calling you right now?” Dean asked. “We were having a moment.”

Castiel chuckled as Dean let Castiel take a step back so he could pull out his phone. “I thought chick flick moments weren’t allowed.”

“Call it a boyfriend clause.” Dean shrugged. “You can have all the chick flick moments you want.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at the title of boyfriend, but didn’t comment on it. There’d be time enough for that later.

“Hello?” Castiel asked as he answered his ringing phone.

“Castiel?” A familiar voice asked. “It’s Ricky. You told me to call you if something weird happened.”

“Ricky, what’s happened?” Castiel asked. Dean scowled at the mention of the waiter’s name.

“There’s… there’s something here at the diner,” Ricky said. “And it’s going to sound fucking weird, but y’all are kinda weird and don’t seem to be bothered by it so whatever.”

“Weird how?” Castiel asked.

“I think there’s a ghost here in the diner,” Ricky said. There was a loud crash in the background of the call. Castiel frowned as he listened harder. He could hear shouting, but no specific words. “Shit. Castiel? I think this ghost is trying to kill us.”

There was another crash followed by the phone making a terrible shrieking noise in his ear. Then the call dropped.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked.

“Ricky said there’s a ghost at the diner.” Castiel paused. “He said he thought the ghost was trying to kill them.”

Dean nodded and pulled out his phone. “Sam, hey, we got another ghost sighting. Meet us at the diner.”


	19. Ricky Is Attacked

When Dean and Cas arrived at the diner they were greeted by police barricades and a crowd of rubber-neckers trying to catch sight of the drama unfolding behind the barricade. They showed their badges to the uniformed officer guarding the barricade. The detective who Cas, Sam, and Mary had all worked with on the case gave them the okay to come through.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you had multiple partners here in town,” Detective Baum said to Cas after giving Dean a once over. “How’d you two hear about this so fast, anyway?”

“I got a call from one of the waiters inside the diner a few minutes ago,” Cas said. “I interviewed him in relation to the body you found earlier this week. He went to church with the victim. I gave him my number and told him to call me if anything strange happened or he remembered anything else.” 

“What’s going on in there?” Dean asked. “Is it a hostage situation?”

“That’s how we’re addressing the situation now, yes,” Detective Baum said. “The man in there seems… troubled. He’s talking gibberish and has broken a couple windows and, far as we can tell, a lot of dishes too. The diner patrons seem fairly terrified of him. Knowing you have an inside line to one of the hostages will help.”

Detective Baum and Cas started to go over what Cas had heard on the call from Ricky. A young female officer approached the detective as they spoke.

“Sir, you should see this,” she said as she held out a tablet to him. “Someone texted in this video to the tip line. It looks like it’s from inside the diner just before the first of the windows blew out.”

The detective took the tablet and started the video. Dean and Cas maneuvered to see the screen.

At first, all Dean could see was the tile floor of the diner. In the background he could hear a man’s raised voice. A shadow passed over the tiles. Dean paused, was that a shadow? The camera angle changed to capture the retreating form of the man with the raised voice. The man looked odd. Almost see-through. Just like Dillon’s ghost in the theater.

The man turned on his heel and looked directly at the camera. He didn’t just look similar to Dillon, that was Dillon. Dean would put money on it. Dillon started talking louder. His features twisted with the intensity of his ghostly fury. Dean couldn’t make out the words, but the language was familiar.

Dean turned to Cas. “Wait, that’s…”

Cas nodded.

“Yes, it’s Enochian. It’s… a battle cry and a plea for something. I can’t make out everything he’s saying.” Cas squinted at the screen for a moment longer then looked at the detective. “I need to get inside the diner, immediately.”

“We’re waiting for SWAT to arrive before we start sending people in,” Detective Baum said.

Dean looked at Cas’s worried expression as the angel stared at the blown out windows of the diner. Dean turned to the detective and motioned for the man to follow him a few steps away.

“Look,” Dean said. “The man in there is former Special Ops with an elite and little-known group of soldiers. He’s got PTSD, and it looks like he’s slipped into the language they used in the field on covert missions. My partner served in the same group. He can get through to this guy better than your SWAT team can. If you want to save lives, you’ll listen to him when he says he needs to get in there and get in there now.” Dean paused for a moment to study the detective’s eyes before dropping his voice to a lower pitch. “Unless you want me to pull rank and take over this scene?”

“I don’t even _want_ to know what’s really going on here. It seems like everything you guys touch is above my pay grade.” Detective Baum nodded once. “Let’s get your boy in there.”

Less than five minutes later, Dean found himself hanging back with the police detective and his team as Cas walked toward the diner. The bullet proof vest the police urged him to wear made his trench coat look even more ill-fitting and bulky than usual, but Cas had refused to take the damn thing off. Logically, Dean knew Cas wouldn’t be facing off with someone who was likely to shoot him and even if he did, the bullets wouldn’t do much to him. Something about seeing the guy he loved wearing a vest like that walking into a dangerous situation that Dean wasn’t allowed into was making him twitchy.

A hand landed on Dean’s shoulder. He looked up to see that Sam and Mary had arrived and finally made it past the barricade. Dean smiled at his family before turning his attention back to the diner in time to watch Cas slip in through the front door. He let out a shaky breath.

“Uber drivers in this town are slow,” Sam said. “What’s going on here?”

“Cas got a call from Ricky,” Dean said. He led Sam and Mary away from the small knot of police. Once he was sure they couldn’t hear them, he continued. “He said there was a ghost in the diner. One of the hostages inside sent in a video they’d taken to the tip line. It’s Dillon. Either doing a salt and burn doesn’t work on angel vessels, or we’ve got other problems we don’t know about with him.”

“The ghost has hostages?” Mary asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “We saw the tip line video. He’s pacing around ranting in Enochian and breaking shit. I don’t know if he’s keeping the civilians inside or if they’re too scared to try to leave, but the cops are treating it like a hostage situation.”

“Why did Cas go inside then?” Sam asked. “Didn’t he try to attack Cas in the theater?”

Dean let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah, but I couldn’t exactly use that to make your detective friend understand why I wanted both of us to risk our lives going in there.”

“Are they at least watching Castiel while he’s in there?” Mary asked. “Is he wearing a wire?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, he’s got a wire, and they said something about a robot with a video camera.”

Mary looked over the group of police.

“Detective Baum,” she called out as she broke away from Dean and Sam. “I want to see and hear what’s going on inside that diner right now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the detective said as he led her over to the van where they had their audio and video equipment set up.

Dean watched his mom disappear into the van. Part of him knew he should be the one sitting in front of the monitors in the van watching the video feed of Cas in the diner and listening in, but he couldn’t force himself to move away from where he’d stopped in the parking lot. He had to be unencumbered with a clear line of sight on the diner in case Cas needed help so he could get to Cas’s side faster.

With a shuddering breath he turned his attention back to the diner. Even though there were windows missing on the building, the angle and lighting situation was all wrong. He wasn’t able to see what was going on inside and the police weren’t letting them get closer for fear that any other movement would force Dillon to start hurting the hostages. He was relying on what little he could hear coming from inside and his gut instincts to let him know if something was going wrong.

The urge to pace the parking lot was nearly overwhelming.

“He’ll be okay,” Sam said.

Dean glanced at Sam then back at the diner.

“Why didn’t the salt and burn work?” Dean asked in a quiet voice. “We should have looked through Scott’s house more. There must be some artifact or something Dillon left behind that he’s tied to. Dammit.”

“He’s also an angel,” Sam said. “We don’t know if whatever he is right now even works like a regular ghost. He’s slipping mentally and emotionally--like a ghost that’s been around too long.”

“He’s got access to some of his mojo too,” Dean said. “Cas hasn’t blown out windows like that in years, but if Dillon’s slipping enough that he can’t control when he does shit like this? We’re going to have a lot of problems on our hands.”

“You think an angel blade can still hurt him?” Sam asked.

“I hope so,” Dean said. “I don’t want to start chucking holy oil molotov cocktails with Cas around. He can’t get caught in the crossfire.” Dean swallowed. The _I can’t risk him_ hung in the air, unspoken but understood between them. “We could have at least tried making angel bullets.”

“Cas will be fine, Dean,” Sam said. “He can handle himself in a fight.”

Dean nodded absently. Knowing that didn’t make this any easier.

The front door of the diner opened and people came filing out. Dean and Sam sprinted across the parking lot to help escort the hostages away. Everyone looked relatively unharmed. A few people had minor cuts from the broken windows. EMTs were only a few steps behind Dean and Sam making sure that the injured people got attention quickly.

Cas wasn’t in the crowd of people leaving the building. Neither was Ricky.

Dean looked at the diner door and saw that there was now a broom stuck through the handles inside keeping it closed. He cursed under his breath and ran over to one of the broken windows. It was chest high and small shards of glass were stuck at worrying angels in the bottom of the track that held the window in place. Dean looked through the open hole into the diner, but couldn’t see Cas, the waiter, or the ghost.

He looked back at Sam and found his brother signing back and forth with a panicked woman from the crowd. She was looking all over the parking lot, and Dean could tell his brother was having trouble following the woman’s signed words. Dean looked into the restaurant again and saw a young boy huddled under a far table.

Dean peeled off his jacket and flannel overshirt. He wrapped the flannel around his right hand and used it to break away more of the glass from the window to make a relatively flat opening then threw his jacket over the track to create a barrier between his bare hands and the remaining glass shards. With a little more effort than he’d needed ten years ago, Dean propped himself up on the window and swung through the opening into the diner.

“Cas?” Dean called out into the diner as soon as he was through the window. He could see no one else in the restaurant apart from the young boy. Distant voices came from the kitchen behind the breakfast bar along the back wall of the restaurant. The boy spotted Dean making his way toward him in a shuffling crouch. Dean held up a placating hand toward the boy once he realized he had the boy’s attention. “Hi there, I’m Dean. I’m here to help you get out of here, okay? Are you hurt?”

The little boy blinked at him slowly, then shook his head.

“You’re not hurt?” Dean asked again. The boy shook his head again. “Good. That’s a good thing. What’s your name?”

The little boy glanced at the kitchen where Cas’s voice was getting clearer. Air buzzed around them as the lights dimmed. The boy’s eyes widened, and Dean looked at the kitchen but could see nothing. He wanted desperately to run in there to make sure Cas was okay, but he needed to get this kid to safety in case Dillon started breaking anything else.

“Trevor,” the little boy said. He crawled out from under the table toward Dean. His eyes stayed trained on the kitchen as Cas shouted something in Enochian. “The ghost man is angry.”

Dean nodded.

“Yeah, he does seem pretty angry.” Dean looked toward the kitchen then at the door leading out of the diner. “My partner in there is going to help him calm down, though. I need you to follow me to the door to safety, okay?”

“Okay,” Trevor said. His wide eyes flicked back and forth from the kitchen to Dean.

“Take my hand,” Dean said as he held out his left hand. Trevor grabbed Dean’s hand tight in his little fist. A crash came from the kitchen as pots and plates fell onto the floor. Trevor’s hand trembled in Dean’s grip. “Let’s go.”

Dean led the boy to the diner door. What he’d thought was a broom handle from outside the restaurant turned out to be a length of pipe Cas must have produced from Chuck-knows-where which he’d then wrapped around the handles. Dean gritted his teeth to keep from swearing under his breath in front of the boy. There was no way Dean could get that pipe off of the handles without Cas’s help. That left the open window he’d come in through as their best option for getting out of there. He hoped none of the glass had managed to poke through his jacket on the way in. The last thing he wanted to do was get the kid hurt on a rescue mission.

“We’re going to go out the window,” Dean said. “It’s a long drop to the ground for someone your size. So I’m going to need you to wait for me to get someone on the outside to help catch you before you climb out, okay?”

Trevor nodded dutifully.

Dean climbed into the booth below the window he’d crawled in through. A quick but thorough inspection of the jacket barrier revealed that nothing had punctured the heavy material. He braced his hands on the windowsill and looked out into the parking lot. Sam and the woman he’d been signing with earlier were having a calmer, silent conversation.

“Sam,” Dean called out. Sam looked up, his brow furrowed. Dean waved him over. Sam excused himself from the woman and jogged over. “She’s looking for her son, right?”

“You could understand that?” Sam asked. “I didn’t know you know sign language.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I may not know sign language, but I know what a terrified parent looks like when they lose track of their kid. Now get over here so you can catch him after I help him out of the window.”

Sam cleared his throat and came closer, holding his arms out.

Dean helped Trevor up from the booth seat to the open window. He and Sam helped him over the open window sill and Dean’s jacket. It wasn’t until Sam was holding Trevor on one hip and started walking with him toward the mother that she turned and saw her son. The look of sheer relief and love on her face hit Dean square in the chest. He’d experienced that kind of terror over losing sight of Lisa’s son Ben in a crowded mall and even with Sam a few times when they were growing up. It wasn’t a feeling he’d wish on a good chunk of his enemies.

He swallowed hard and looked back at the kitchen. With the boy taken care of, it was time to make sure Cas was okay.

It took careful foot placement while making his way from the booth to the swinging door leading to the kitchen to keep from crunching on broken glass and other things littering the floor that would broadcast his movements. He could hear low voices coming from beyond the kitchen door. With his gun drawn, he peeked through the window on the swinging door. The angle was off, but he could just make out Cas standing in front of someone huddled on the ground and Dillon’s ghostly form between Dean and Cas. Dillon’s wings were folded behind his back.

Dean took a deep breath and gently pushed the door inward so he could get inside the kitchen. Cas didn’t look away from Dillon, but something relaxed in his posture to let Dean know that Cas was aware he was there.

Cas was speaking to Dillon in Enochian. His voice was soft and soothing like he was still in the process of talking Dillon down from whatever stress he’d entangled himself in.

Dean edged closer.

Ricky was curled up with his hands over his eyes and his knees to his chest behind Cas’s legs. Dean couldn’t tell if the waiter was injured or not, but he was clearly shaking.

Dillon hissed back at Cas in Enochian. Dean recognized a few of the angrier words he said. Dillon spoke too quickly for Dean to catch it all. The words for rebel and blasphemy stood out to him. Whatever had happened to Dillon to keep him on Earth as a ghost seemed to have caught him in a loop of anger, and Cas didn’t seem to be making progress in snapping him out of it.

“Brother,” Cas said in English. “Let us help you. We can help you get back to what you once were. No one’s been hurt yet. You can still recover from this.”

“Recover?” Dillon asked. The question cut through the air like a blade.

_Wrong word to use, Cas_ , Dean thought. The close quarters of the kitchen were too tight to use his gun if it became necessary. Cas and Ricky were too likely to be caught in the crossfire anyway. Dean put his gun away and looked around the room. Why hadn’t he grabbed an angel blade on his way in? Cas had urged him to look for non-lethal ways of taking Dillon down, but they might not get the choice.

“You think I can recover from this, brother?” Dillon asked. The word brother sounded like it was filled with poison slipping from Dillon’s tongue. “I died, Castiel. My wings stained the ground, and instead of finding out where our brothers and sisters go when they leave us forever, I woke up in a movie theater. I woke up like this.”

“Duma,” Castiel said. “I know the last few months have been hard—.”

“Hard?” Dillon asked. The ghost laughed and stretched out his wings before rising in the air. “Hard doesn’t begin to describe the time that’s passed since I died, rebel. Hard was turning my back on Heaven to stay with the man I loved on Earth. Hard was watching him marry someone else. Hard was realizing I couldn’t hate her no matter how much I wanted to. Hard was deciding to leave them so they could have peace together. But this?” Dillon’s voice cracked and his wings flapped erratically. “This is excruciating.”

“We can help you, Duma,” Cas said. “The Winchesters have immense resources. We can find out how you got like this and how to fix it. You can be with Scott and Ashley again.”

Dean blinked and Dillon was across the room with one of his ghostly hands wrapped around Cas’s neck, holding him off the ground.

“You don’t say their names, rebel,” Dillon said. “You don’t speak of them at all.”

_Fuck this_ , Dean thought. His eyes darted around the room and landed on a cast iron frying pan with a few cold pieces of bacon in it. Dean was grateful that someone had thought to turn off the stoves before evacuating the kitchen as he grabbed the pan and swung it at Dillon. Bacon and coddled grease flew through the air. Cas fell to the floor as Dillon’s ghost swirled away like smoke.

Dean tossed the pan back on the grill and dropped to his knees in front of Cas. He grabbed Cas by the shoulders and tilted his head down so he could meet the angel’s eyes.

“Cas?” Dean asked.

Cas reached up to touch his throat and met Dean’s gaze. “I’m fine.”

“Come here,” Dean said. He pulled Cas into a hug. Their foreheads and noses pressed together as Cas reached out to curl his fingers in Dean’s t-shirt. Dean wrapped an arm around Cas’s back, and he buried the fingers of his other hand in Cas’s hair. He gave Cas a quick kiss. “I’ve got you.”

“I should have been able to get through to him,” Cas said. “Why didn’t he listen to me?”

Dean closed his eyes as memories of Bobby as a ghost flooded through his mind. How he’d seemed like himself most of the time, except when his killer was in his sights. It still stung to remember how angry and not like himself Bobby became when he’d started to slip as a ghost.

“It’s not your fault, Cas,” Dean said.

“Duma and I were close once. Before he got reassigned to another garrison,” Cas said. “We were so alike in our differences from the rest of our brothers and sisters.”

Dean lifted his head so he could kiss Cas’s forehead. He didn’t have the necessary words to make Cas feel better about any of this. The best he could do was offer comfort and help Cas do what Cas had told Dillon they could do. Find a way to fix Dillon.

“Dean? Cas?” Sam’s voice came from behind Dean. “Are you guys okay? Where’s the ghost?”

Dean closed his eyes and took in a deep breath against Cas’s skin. He pressed another tender kiss to Cas’s forehead before pulling away. Cas patted him on the chest as the disentangled themselves from each other. Cas’s eyes were warm and cautious when he pulled away. Dean could tell Cas was bracing himself for having to hide the change in their relationship again.

Cas’s neck was red where Dillon had held him off the ground. Anger coursed through Dean’s veins like hellfire for a moment. Just long enough to break through Dean’s anxiety over hiding his feelings anymore. He reached out to grab the back of Cas’s head again. He gave Cas a reassuring smile before pulling him into a kiss.

The kiss was solid and warm. Nerves and emotion made Dean’s pulse hammer in his ears, but he kept his lips against Cas’s. He wasn’t ready to say that he loved Cas out loud, but those three little words were heavy on his tongue as they kissed. He poured the emotion into each press of their lips and curl of his fingers in Cas’s hair and against the skin of Cas’s cheek and neck. Dean might still be a coward when it came to vocalizing how he felt about Cas to the world, but he wanted the kiss to make it clear to everyone in the room—including Cas—how he felt without words.

“Okay… that’s new,” Sam said. “Do you guys need a minute or can we get Ricky to the EMTs to get his head checked now?”

Dean tore himself away from Cas’s mouth and looked over at the waiter who was still curled up on the floor cradling his head. Blood stained Ricky’s temple and was smeared dry over his hands.

Dean turned to Cas and raised his eyebrows while tilting his head in Ricky’s direction. The wound looked minor enough that Cas could heal him easily.

Cas shook his head. “Not with this many humans around. He may have a concussion so anything he’s heard or seen here can be excused by that.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “Let’s get him out of here then.”


	20. Coming Clean

Dean and Sam made it out of the diner first. Cas had used the excuse of removing the barricade bar he’d wrapped around the door handles and making sure to selectively wipe Ricky’s memory to stay behind. They didn’t want Ricky to reveal anything he shouldn’t to the police and end up in an institution or something.

Dean was impressed that Sam waited until they’d made it outside and moved off to the side of the group of police where they wouldn’t be disturbed before he broke his silence.

“You and Cas, huh?” Sam asked. “How long has that been going on?”

That very question—or one like it—was a big part of the reason Dean had remained in the closet for so long when it came to Sam and the rest of his family. He knew his brother didn’t mean any offense by the question and would likely support him, but that didn’t make the conversation any less awkward. Not for the first time in his life, Dean found himself wishing that his sexuality and romantic partners wasn’t a big deal to anyone else. He wanted it to blend into the background as well as him wearing flannel or choosing Baby over any other car in the bunker’s garage.

“It’s new,” Dean said. He thought back on the years of feelings he’d buried for a variety of different reasons that had since fallen by the wayside. “Kind of. It’s been a long time coming, if you want the truth.”

“You happy?” Sam asked.

Memories from the last twelve odd hours flitted through his head. Cas’s smile in the sunset immortalized on Dean’s phone. How secure and comfortable Dean was falling asleep in Cas’s arms the night before. Holding Cas’s hand while they walked through the strange town. Cas’s mouth on his own.

Dean looked down at the asphalt of the parking lot beneath his feet when he realized he was smiling despite himself. “Yeah, for once, I’m actually happy.”

“Good,” Sam said. He chuckled. “That’s really good.”

“How _is_ Eileen doing?” Dean asked. He’d thought there had been the potential for something between his brother and the deaf hunter they’d run into the year before at the retirement home job. Eileen had more than held her own and gave as good as she got when it came to sass. Sam’s chuckle faded to a sentimental smile that Dean hadn’t seen his brother wear in years.

“She’s… she’s really good,” Sam said.

Dean nodded.

They stood together in silence for a minute or two.

“I’m gonna fuck this up,” Dean said.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“With Cas,” Dean said. “I’m gonna fuck it up. I don’t know how, but I will.”

“Probably,” Sam said.

“Thanks for the pep talk.” Dean slowly turned to look at his brother with wide eyes and raised brows. “What the fuck, Sam?”

“It’s true,” Sam said. “And I’m going to fuck up with Eileen. That’s just how relationships go.”

Dean continued staring at his brother.

“Think about it, Dean,” Sam said. “How many times have you and Cas hurt each other over the years?”

“Not helpful,” Dean said.

“Shut up,” Sam said. “You’ve both hurt each other, a lot. So have you and I. Hell, we don’t know anyone that hasn’t hurt us or we haven’t gotten hurt. Not anyone who stuck around us for very long, anyway.”

“How is this supposed to make me feel like Cas and I aren’t doomed?” Dean asked.

“Because no matter how often you two hurt each other, you find each other again,” Sam said. “No matter how _badly_ you hurt each other or how deep the betrayal, you reach out for each other. We’ve done the same thing. With the bond you two have? You’ll always find your way back to each other, Dean. No matter how far apart you seem to be.”

Dean swallowed and looked away. “Okay, chick flick moment is over with. Go check on Mom or something.”

“Whatever you say, jerk,” Sam said. 

“Bitch,” Dean said.

Sam patted Dean on the shoulder with a half smile then made his way to where Mary was standing with Detective Baum.

Dean let out a shuddering breath. That conversation went better than he’d imagined it would, but he was still reeling.

Cas came out of the diner, one hand on Ricky’s upper arm as he guided the man to the back of the waiting ambulance to get checked out. Cas met Dean’s eye and waved. He looked like he was bracing for Dean to have a negative reaction. Like one of those stray dogs Sam had tried adopting over the years that would flinch and run under furniture when John came home with his raised voice and liquor on his breath.

Dean grinned at him and joined Cas and Ricky at the ambulance. He wrapped an arm around Cas's waist while the EMT looked over Ricky’s eyes checking for a concussion. Cas tilted his head at Dean for a moment, then relaxed into the touch with a small smile on his face. That was a look Dean wanted to remember for a long time.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Dean said to Cas as he stole a kiss. Cas’s smile widened under Dean’s attention making the tension Dean had been carrying in his shoulders melt away. Maybe they really could do this. Dean turned to look at Ricky. “How’s your head?”

“I feel like I took on a baseball team,” Ricky said. “And not in a fun way.”

Dean laughed. Maybe the waiter was an alright guy.

“You almost ready to go?” Dean asked Cas.

“Almost,” Cas said. He dug around in his trench coat pocket and held something out to Ricky. “I believe these are yours, Ricky.”

Ricky leaned over to look around the EMT who was getting his blood pressure. “Oh damn, my glasses. Thank you.”

Cas handed them over. They looked like they were stepped on, if the cracked lens and bent arm were anything to go by. Ricky looked down at the mangled pair in his hands and cleared his throat.

“I was wondering why everything was more blurry than normal,” Ricky said. “Guess I’ll have to check my locker for my spare contacts or something.”

Dean nodded.

His phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number when he pulled it out.

“Give me a second,” he said to Cas with a squeeze of his arm. He reluctantly let Cas go and stepped away to answer the call. “Special Agent Jones speaking.”

The caller chuckled on the line. “Yeah, I still doubt that’s your real name, man.”

“Who is this?” Dean asked.

“Scott Allen,” Scott said. “I would have called sooner, but I kind of burned the business cards you and your partner gave me the other night. Ashley got one from your partner guy, Castiel or whatever. He said to call you if he wasn’t able to answer for some reason.”

Dean looked at Cas with a furrowed brow.

“Okay,” Dean said. “Why _are_ you calling?”

There was no way news of Dillon appearing again could have spread that fast. Not even in a town this small, right?

“I went to the theater that night after I spoke with you guys,” Scott said. “And I saw something. I saw Dillon.” Dean’s stomach sank. Scott continued even though Dean really didn’t want to hear where this was going.“He— He burned up in front of me.”

Dean closed his eyes. “Shit.”

Scott’s laugh sounded wet and humorless. “Well, that answers that. You know what’s going on with him, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we should talk,” Dean said. “Can we meet at your house again?”

“Sure,” Scott said. “Bring your angel.”

Scott hung up before Dean could respond. Dean stared down at his phone and tried not to feel like Scott’s last request was ominous.

He took a moment to collect himself and went back to Cas's side. This time it was Cas who reached out and tentatively took hold of Dean’s hand. His blue eyes met Dean’s. The nervousness in his stare made Dean want to do mushy, chick flick shit like wrap Cas up in blankets and hold him. Dean settled for squeezing Cas's hand and giving him a smile.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dean said.

Cas nodded and walked with Dean to the Impala.

“Who was that on the phone?” Cas asked.

“Scott Allen,” Dean said. “The guy from the other day who tried to shoot you.”

“Dean, he did no—”

“Yeah, yeah, so you’ve said. Let me hold a grudge, okay?” Dean said, even though Cas’s earlier point about what would Dean do in Scott’s position did make Dean feel a little more empathetic toward the guy than he let on. “He said he was at the theater that night when we salted and burned Dillon’s bones. I think he watched Dillon’s ghost burn up.”

“Shit,” Cas said.

Dean grinned.

Cas glared at him.

“What? You never swear, it’s cute,” Dean mumbled. He could feel his cheeks flaring pink. “Anyway, I told him we’d meet him and Ashley at his house. Fill him in on things.”

Mary and Sam were standing next to Baby already. Cas moved to get into the back, Dean tightened his hold on Cas's hand and shook his head.

“No, you’re riding shotgun,” Dean said.

“That’s Sam’s seat,” Cas said.

Dean rolled his eyes and opened the passenger door for Cas. He tugged the angel close and gave him a quick kiss.

“Get in the fucking car,” Dean said against Cas's cheek. He pulled back so he could meet Cas's eyes. Cas stared at him, then nodded. Dean closed the door behind him and looked at Sam. His chest felt like it was filled with bubbles instead of organs and blood. “You good?”

Sam smiled. “I’m good.”

Dean nodded and made his way around to the driver’s door while his brother and mom climbed into the back. He drove them away from the diner with the radio playing low. Sam and Mary talked with each other in the backseat about the case. Dean should probably be listening to what they were saying, but all he could think about was Cas sitting in the seat next to him.

Dean took one hand off the wheel and reached over to grab hold of Cas's left hand. His bones shook with nerves as he lifted Cas's hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over Cas's skin. He smoothed his thumb over the spot he’d kissed and glanced at Cas's shocked, warm smile. Dean rested their hands on the seat between them and looked back at the road.


	21. Meet With Scott & Ashley

Dean shifted in the uncomfortable folding chair at Scott Allen’s card table and sipped from the mug of coffee in his hands. As long as he kept drinking coffee, he wouldn’t have to talk, and as long as he didn’t have to talk, he wouldn’t end up getting into another fight with the grieving man across the table.

Sam and Mary chose to be dropped off at the motel instead of coming along to Scott’s. Sam explained that he’d asked Eileen to do some research for him on the case, and he wanted to check in with her. Mary had climbed out of the Impala with a quick, “I’ll help Sam.”

Coming out to Sam was easy. Dean had never really had any doubts, especially as Dean’s feelings for Cas became harder to ignore, that Sam would be supportive. His brother was a good person down to the marrow of his bones no matter how hard Sam was on himself. Recently, Dean’s only remaining hesitation about coming out to Sam was whether or not loving guys fell under the whole ‘set a good example for your brother’ umbrella Dean had grown up with. He was trying to be better at letting Sam be his own person and see through the facade Dean had struggled to survive under, though.

“Really?” Cas asked as he returned to the kitchen with Ashley, Scott’s not-so-estranged wife, by his side. Dean blinked away his distracting thoughts and stared at his lover. “Have you told him anything since we left, Dean?”

“No, he hasn’t,” Scott said before taking a sip from his mug of coffee.

Dean turned to glare at him. “Yeah, well, I’m kinda going through some shit right now. Give me a minute.”

“You’ve had thirty,” Scott said. “Do you really think what we’re going through is easy?”

“No,” Dean said. He lifted his mug to take another sip only to find it empty. He frowned down into the empty mug. Would it be rude to ask for a refill? He looked away from his mug. Scott was still glaring at him. Probably best not to ask right then. “I don’t really know where to start here.”

“Are you kidding me?” Scott asked.

“Scott, stop it,” Ashley said. She grabbed the mugs from both Scott and Dean, then used one to point at Scott. “Calm down for a second, then explain to him everything you know so he has an idea of what gaps to fill. Sound good?”

Scott blinked up at her. For a moment, Dean worried that Scott would snap at her, but then the tension in Scott’s shoulders melted away. Scott reached out and patted Ashley on the hip with a faint smile on his face.

“That’ll work,” Scott said.

“Good,” Ashley said. “I’ll get more coffee. Castiel, you want some?”

“Yes, thank you,” Cas said as he finally settled into the seat next to Dean instead of hovering protectively beside the table. Dean bumped his knee against Cas’s thigh. Cas tilted his head at him, and Dean shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to explain why he’d felt the need to touch Cas, that time would come later. Cas looked away to pin Scott down with his intense blue eyes. “Explain to us everything you know. Start with how you and Dillon met.”

“I already told you how we met,” Scott said.

“You gave us a nice, believable story about Dillon being your medic in Iraq,” Dean said. “But I’ve met a lot of angels, man. Something tells me that when you met Dillon it was a little more intense than meeting the rest of your team.”

Scott sighed. His fingers curled on the tabletop like he was reaching for something to fidget with.

“We were in different units when I first met him,” Scott said. “I was caught up in a building, separated from the rest of my team when I took a shot to my leg. The bullet missed major arteries, but it bled a lot very quickly. I started to panic when I couldn’t reach any of my team, and the enemy started getting closer to my location. I was all set to go down in a blaze of glory when this guy came in from another door I didn’t see. Or so I thought. After I found out he was an angel and what he could do, I figured out that Dillon had transported into the room with me. He helped to my feet, and we shot our way out of there. Once we were relatively safe, he patched me up.”

“Did he ever explain why he came to help you?” Cas asked.

Ashley returned to the table with coffee and settled into the seat next to Scott. She took hold of one of his hands on the table. He squeezed her fingers tight then cleared his throat.

“My soul,” Scott said. “It was almost a year later when I figured out the reason Dillon was so… strange was because he was an angel, of all things. I demanded an explanation out of him. Someone else in my unit died that day. A guy with two little kids and a wife back home and I was… I was no one worth saving at that point. Ashley and I were on a break because of the distance, and the way I changed from war was making everything too difficult for us, for _me_ to keep things going with her. I was barely a good person at that point and instead of saving this other guy who had more to live for than I did, he came after me.” Scott blinked glossy eyes at the wall before turning to look at Dean and then Cas. “He said my soul called to him, like that made up for anything.”

Dean looked at Cas who glanced at Dean then looked away.

“I’ve been there, man,” Dean said, truthfully. “Do you know… Did Dillon ever say anything about being on a mission from Heaven to spare your life for something? Or that you had a higher purpose to serve?”

Scott scoffed. “No, I know they didn’t have any plans for me, but he never said anything beyond that.”

“He and I talked about it once, actually,” Ashley said.

“Really?” Scott asked.

Ashley nodded.

“He begged me not to tell you,” Ashley said. “You and your team mate were both supposed to die that day. By Heaven’s orders, but something in your soul stopped him from being able to stand by and let it happen.”

“He defied a direct order just to save me?” Scott asked. “Heaven hunted him for _years_ because of that decision. I may as well have written his death warrant in my own blood.”

Dean swallowed hard. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought the same thing about Cas and him over the years. That was something Dean would probably feel guilty about until the day he died for the last time.

“You can't think like that,” Cas said. He shook his head and looked from Scott to Ashley to Dean and back. “None of you should. Angels have the potential for free will. Dillon and I were not the first angels to choose to stay on Earth with humanity. We weren't even among the first to fall.”

“But I thought…” Dean says.

“It was extremely rare.” Cas nodded his head once and continued to stare at Scott as he spoke. “And it's always been heavily frowned upon, but even if that weren't true, both of us chose humanity over Heaven. You should respect those choices.”

Cas turned away from Scott to look at Dean. Dean stared back. His instincts told him to wrap an arm around Cas’s shoulders and pull the angel close so Dean could kiss his hairline in reassurance. Years of conditioning himself against acting on such instincts had him grabbing Cas’s hand under the table and lacing their fingers together. There was little chance Dean would ever like the fact that Cas had chosen to give up all the glory of what he once was for Dean, but he’d respect it to his last breath.

“Okay,” Dean said with a shaky breath. He tightened his grip on Cas’s hand and nodded.

Across the table, Ashley was watching them with a tilted head. Scott let go of her hand and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Do you two need a room or something?” Scott asked. His gaze was pinned to the middle of the tabletop between them.

Ashley looked from Dean and Cas to her husband.

“Oh,” Ashley said as her eyebrows rose. “I didn’t realize you two were together-together. That makes much more sense.”

Dean blinked.

“It’s, yeah, it’s pretty new, but yeah,” Dean said. He took a deep breath and met Ashley’s eyes. “Cas and I are together.”

Ashley smiled. “Good for you.”

“Yeah, good for you,” Scott said with a grimace. He stared at the table like he could burn a hole through it with his eyes. “Can we get on with this?”

Dean shifted in his seat again, but didn’t release Cas’s hand.

“When you say Heaven hunted Dillon for years after he saved you, what do you mean?” Dean asked. “Did they send angels after him immediately or was it later?”

“It got worse after the fall,” Scott said.

A tremor ran through Cas’s hand. Dean knew the angel still felt immense guilt over his part in his brothers and sisters falling from Heaven, no matter how often Dean or anyone else explained that Metatron had manipulated him. Dean rubbed the back of Cas’s hand with his thumb.

“That was a terrible night,” Ashley said. “The three of us were watching a movie when Dillon grabbed his head out of nowhere and started crying. Like fat, ugly tears kind of crying. We stopped the movie and tried to calm him down, but he couldn’t hear us. Then he ran outside and fell to his knees in the yard.” She cleared her throat and looked at Cas. “That’s when we saw them.”

Cas’s eyes were glassy, and his jaw was clenched. He was obviously putting effort into holding his spine straight like the heavenly soldier he once was. It was an act of self-policing to keep himself from feeling too much.

Dean leaned closer.

“Do you want to take a walk or something while the three of us talk?” Dean asked.

“No,” Cas said with a shake of his head. “I deser— I need to hear this, Dean.”

Cas stared at him with pleading, tear filled eyes. Dean gave in to his earlier impulse and pressed a reassuring kiss to Cas’s hairline.

Before Dean pulled away, he whispered, “Any time you need a break from this, let me know.”

Cas nodded. His hair tickled Dean’s nose as he moved. Dean kissed him again and settled back into his seat.

“That was a rough night for you guys too I take it?” Scott asked. His jealous irritation had calmed down enough for him to actually look at them when he spoke.

A broken laugh tore from Cas’s lips.

“You could say that,” Cas said. “How often did angels pursue him before the fall?”

“A couple times,” Scott said. “Once when we were still overseas, there was a group of angels posing as enemy soldiers. They tried to kidnap him, but our unit fought them off. Dillon and I got separated from the rest of our team in the fight. A couple of the angels had managed to get hold of him, and I went after them to try to save him. I saw Dillon pull out this wicked silver spike looking thing and stab one of the guys with it. The guy lit up like the Fourth of July. Once they were all dead and our team was back to safety, I cornered Dillon and made him explain. That’s how I found out about the whole angel thing. It still took me weeks to really, actually believe him about it.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, I get that.”

“The other angels left him alone after that?” Cas asked.

“Until we got back from deployment,” Scott said. “The three of us had been living here at the house for a couple years when this dark haired woman in a suit showed up at our front door.”

“What was her name?” Cas asked in a hollow voice.

Dean narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah,” Scott said. “I can’t remember her name. It was something like Nancy or Nicole, but stranger.”

“Naomi,” Cas and Ashley said at the same time. Ashley sounded like she was being helpful, but Cas sounded like he was talking about a nightmare he’d had once.

“I hated that bitch,” Dean said.

“Dillon did too,” Ashley said.

Dean’s phone ringing disrupted the conversation.

Sam’s name came up on the screen. Dean excused himself and moved to the living room. 

“What?” Dean asked as he answered Sam’s call. “I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

“Is everything all right there?” Sam asked, worry creeping into his voice. “Do you need Mom and me to head over there for backup?”

“No, never mind,” Dean said. “What have you got?”

“I got a hold of Eileen,” Sam said.

“I bet you did,” Dean said under his breath.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Nothing,” Dean said. “What did Eileen have to say?”

“She hasn’t found anything concrete so far,” Sam said. “But there was a note in a journal she inherited from her mom about a spell for binding immortals to Earth after death.”

“Angels aren’t exactly immortal,” Dean said. He looked at Cas and Scott talking in low voices as Ashley waved at Dean before making her way up the stairs.

“No,” Sam said. “But we haven’t actually met anyone who was truly immortal yet. Not even Chuck.”

“True,” Dean said. “She have a copy of this spell?”

“That’s the bad news,” Sam said. “She’s trying to get a hold of the hunter mentioned in the journal, or his family. They’re people she’s worked with before and trusts, but they’re off the grid right now. It could be a day or two before she has more information.”

“So we’re back to square one,” Dean said.

“Yeah.”

“Great,” Dean said. “You got any other good news for us or any other ideas?”

“Treat it like a regular haunting?” Sam asked.

“We already burned the body, Sammy,” Dean said.

“He could be tied to an object,” Sam said. “Maybe that’s what keeps angels here anyway since their vessels aren’t technically their bodies.”

Dean closed his eyes. He really didn’t need a reminder of Jimmy Novak right then. Sure, Cas had died and been restored by Chuck enough times that Dean knew he was all alone in his body and Jimmy was in Heaven by now, but that didn’t make it any less weird to think about defiling Claire’s dad’s body.

“You’re right,” Dean said. “I don’t know why we didn’t think of an object before.”

“We thought the salt and burn worked until this afternoon,” Sam said.

Dean grunted.

“Anything else?” Dean asked.

“No, not at the moment,” Sam said. “Oh, I moved my stuff into the other motel room so you and Cas have the place to yourselves tonight. Keep the noise down.”

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean said.

“Jerk,” Sam said.

Dean shook his head with a smile then ended the call and returned to the table. Scott had left the room shortly after Ashley did. Dean pulled Cas into a quick kiss, earning him a smile in return.

“Sam seemed to be in a good mood despite having no new information,” Cas said.

“Having a new girlfriend does wonders for that boy’s mood,” Dean said.

Cas hummed thoughtfully and looked at Dean.

“Perhaps you should try that sometime,” Cas said.

“Try what?” Dean asked. Even as he spoke, his stomach sank with worry over Cas’s meaning. The angel understood what all this was, right?

“Finding yourself a girlfriend, of course,” Cas said. “It might make you easier to put up with if you were in a  good mood all the time.”

Dean had to remind himself that he was in the middle of the high desert and not on the coast somewhere, because it sounded like the ocean was rushing in his ears as he stared at Cas’s silhouette in the dark.

“Cas…” Dean’s voice broke. He gulped breath like a dying man and shook his head. “I don’t want… I mean… What?”

Then Cas grabbed a fist full of Dean’s shirt and yanked him close enough that Dean could feel the heat of Cas’s skin on his lips.

“That was a joke,” Cas said with a growl. “You’re mine, Dean Winchester.”

Dean didn’t get the chance to recover from Cas’s terrible interpretation of a joke before Cas closed the distance between them and claimed Dean’s mouth with a ravenous kiss. It took Dean’s body a moment or three to catch up from his minor panic attack to being groped by an angel again. Once it did, Dean was one thousand percent on board with the development. He kissed back with just as much passion and heat as Cas was giving to him. They should forget all about actually talking about their feelings and stick with communicating like this. It was so much easier to understand what the hell Cas wanted when they were both riled up like this.

Footsteps on the stairs had Dean pulling away from the kiss to whisper against Cas’s ear.

“We need finish this interview,” Dean said. “Then we’re going to head back to the motel so you can fuck me through the mattress. If this takes too long, we’ll find a spot to park Baby and make the backseat work.”

Cas leaned forward to peck a kiss on the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Whatever you say, Dean.”

Scott and Ashley came down the stairs holding hands. Judging from their red, swollen lips they’d been a little handsy with each other too.

Ashley had changed into a pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt. Old mascara clinging to her lashes was all that was left of the makeup she'd worn when they arrived. Her short pink hair was sticking up at odd angles from her shower. Memories of lazy nights with Lisa and Ben came to Dean's mind as he took in the sight of Ashley and Scott whispering to each other in their nearly empty home. For the first time in years, Dean was happy enough otherwise for that kind of memory not to hurt.

Ashley looked up as they entered the room.

“Everything okay on the phone?” Ashley asked.

“Yeah, my brother was just checking in,” Dean said.

Ashley nodded as she and Scott made their way back to their seats. Scott cleared his throat and glanced at Ashley.

“I remembered something else while you were on the phone,” Ashley said as she looked at Dean and Cas.

“Shoot,” Dean said.

“Dillon didn’t talk with us very often about angel things,” Ashley said.

“Not until after the fall,” Scott said. “Then it was a lot of education on how to spot a potential angel. How to defend ourselves against angels.”

“Is that where the angel blade bullets came into play?” Dean asked.

“And the sigils for detecting angels in our home,” Scott said. “He helped us paint them onto our walls in a clear coat so they wouldn’t be obvious until they were needed.”

“He was also adamant about wanting to leave us if we ever decided to have children,” Ashley said.

Dean frowned.

“Dillon didn’t like kids?” Dean asked.

“It wasn’t that,” Scott said. “He was worried about other angels finding out that we had children.”

“With the three of you so close they would assume the child was a nephilim,” Cas said. “Heaven would never stop hunting you or the child.”

“That’s what he said, yeah,” Scott said.

Cas looked away for a moment. Dean could practically see him beating himself up mentally for the things he had to do as an angelic soldier over the millennia. With Kelly Kline and Lily Sunder being such recent problems for them, Dean knew that wound over crimes against nephilim was especially fresh for Cas.

Dean rested his hand on Cas’s shoulder.

“What was it that you remembered?” Dean asked Ashley.

Ashley cleared her throat. She turned to look at Cas. “Your full name is Castiel, right?”

Alarm bells started going off in the back of Dean’s mind. His jaw tightened and he sat up a little straighter. He was aching to see Cas’s face, but he kept his gaze pinned on Ashley. Where was she going with that question?

“It is,” Cas said.

“Wait, Castiel like…” Scott said. “Oh, dude, I knew the name sounded familiar. Do you really think this is the same angel Dillon was talking about?”

“The one who brought about the fall? Yeah, I think I do,” Ashley said. Her expression was blank, but it still made Dean see red. Dean held his tongue with every ounce of restraint—which honestly wasn’t much—he had left in him.

“I am that angel,” Cas said.

Dean could almost hear his own teeth grinding together as he clenched his jaw. Cas sounded so defeated whenever he spoke about what Metatron did to him. To all of the angels. Dean wished he knew how to help Cas let go of the guilt he felt over the angels falling. Of course, it didn’t help when they kept running into other dicks with broken wings rubbing holy oil in those wounds all over again.

“Now, Dillon had his own theories about what actually happened to cause the fall,” Ashley said. “He heard a lot of gossip over angel radio and random angels stopping him on the street when they spotted him afterward to put some things together for himself. I’d like to hear your side of it first, though. If you don’t mind.”

“He doesn’t have to explain anything to you,” Dean said.

“Dean,” Cas said. Dean ground his teeth together again, but fell silent. “Dean’s right, I don’t have to explain anything to you.” Dean grinned at that; it looked like the angel was finally going to start standing up for himself. “But I will.” Dean looked at Cas with raised brows. “Dean and his brother Sam had the opportunity to seal the gates of Hell forever. It would have kept demons in Hell permanently and prevented them from coming to Earth to cause problems. When it became clear that the only way to finish sealing the gates was for Sam to die, they stopped. While they were working on that, I was approached by a prophet named Metatron.”

“Prophets are a real thing?” Scott asked. “Like, the talk to God kind of prophets?”

“Less talking to God and more able to read his super secret diaries,” Dean said. “Metatron wasn’t just a prophet. He was _the_ prophet. The scribe of God himself whose job it was to actually write down God’s words for prophets to read.”

“Cool,” Ashley said.

“No, not cool,” Dean said. “Metatron was a douchebag.”

“He approached me,” Cas said, raising his voice to be heard over Dean insulting Metatron, “saying that there was a way we could seal Heaven the same way Dean and Sam were trying to seal Hell.”

“When you say seal it up like Hell… what would have happened to the angels here on Earth?” Scott asked.

“I wasn’t sure,” Cas said. “Metatron never explained that to me. I assumed we would either be sent back to Heaven when the gate was closed or we’d be trapped here on Earth and possibly made mortal in the process.”

Dean closed his eyes. He remembered how hurt he’d been when he first learned about Cas’s plan to lock up Heaven. How scared he’d been that Cas would succeed and end up trapped in Heaven forever instead of on Earth by Dean’s side where he belonged. He wished he hadn’t been such a coward back then and had actually said something instead of licking his wounds by himself. If sealing both Heaven and Hell had worked according to plan, Dean would have lost his brother and Cas in the same night. Forever.

“To close the gates of Heaven, I had to complete three trials—as did Sam to close the gates of Hell,” Cas said. “Unlike Sam, who had to stop the trials or else he’d die, I finished all three tasks. I had the chance to prevent the Earth and humanity from the destruction Heaven and angels have caused. Instead of sealing the gates the way Metatron told me they would, it caused the angels to lose their wings and fall. We were unable to get back in, and my brothers and sisters have yet to forgive me for it.” Cas paused. “I don’t fault them for that.”

“Yeah, well, I do,” Dean said. “They’re all dicks.”

“I know I was once known for being an angel’s angel and for following Heaven’s orders,” Cas said. “I regret that I was not able to meet Dillon again while he was alive so I could apologize for everything I’ve done.”

Dean shook his head.

“He didn’t blame you, Castiel,” Scott said.

“What?” Cas asked.

“Dillon got really angry the first time he heard your name in connection with the gossip going around about the fall,” Ashley said. “He kept saying he was disappointed in his siblings for distrusting you.”

“He said he knew you from his time in Heaven,” Scott said. “When you were both soldiers and young. Or younger, I guess, the way angels age or don’t is still really confusing.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean said.

“We served together in the same flock for a time, yes,” Cas said. “Dillon and I would talk on occasion.”

“On occasion must have been often enough to make a lasting impression,” Scott said. “He wouldn’t hear a negative word about you from any of the other angels he came across. He said he’d never seen you do something—even under orders—that you didn’t believe was right at the time. If there was something you found reprehensible, you’d fight against it or ask why you were supposed to do it.”

“That’s when he told us more about Naomi,” Ashley said. “When she first came to visit, he was really vague about how he knew her, but when stories about you started going around…”

“He knew?” Cas asked. “He knew all these years that she was reprogramming me whenever I failed to follow orders?”

“Dillon said it was one of the worst parts of his job in Heaven,” Scott said. “Leading you to her whenever she called and then bringing you back when she was finished with you.”

“He was doing what he was told,” Cas said. He sounded numb, hollow. 

Dean wished the angel would sleep more often like a human so he could hold Cas through the night after days like this. He took hold of Cas’s hand and squeezed it hard in an attempt at keeping Cas focused on the present and away from bad memories and crippling what-if moments.

“Why would he tell you about all that?” Dean asked. “Why talk to you about Cas?”

“After Naomi and the fall, Dillon got paranoid,” Ashley said.

“More paranoid,” Scott said.

Ashley nodded.

“He wanted us to be prepared if we were approached by strange angels,” Ashley said. “He gave us a list of angels not to trust. Questions to ask on another list to make sure they were who they said they were. And another list, a much shorter one, of angels to trust fully once we verified who they were.”

“Castiel’s name was on the last list,” Scott said. “The short list with angels he not only trusted, but ones he’d trust with our lives.”

Dean looked at Cas. The angel’s eyes were thick and glossy with unshed tears. Cas’s grip on Dean’s hand was just shy of too painful to bear.

“Thank you,” Cas said. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say to that. I will do my best to live up to Dillon’s expectations.”

“Do you remember any of the other names on the list?” Dean asked.

“Kind of?” Scott said.

“The only one I remember was Gabriel,” Ashley said. “Because Dillon made sure to emphasize that we were only to trust him _if_ he wasn’t ‘being a little shit.’ I guess that was a problem with him?”

Cas laughed.

“That is an apt description of Gabriel,” Cas said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Gabriel is a bit of a trickster. Or he was, at least.”

Ashley and Scott’s expressions sobered.

“We still have the list in his old notebook,” Scott said. “Let me go get it.”

Scott gave Ashley a quick kiss on the cheek then stood up and made his way to the stairs. Ashley watched her husband with a small smile on her face.

“I’ll put these away, then,” Ashley said. “Will you two be staying for dessert?”

“Nah,” Dean said. “We’ll stick around long enough to check out this list of angels and then get out of your hair.”

“You sure?” Ashley asked. “We have some pie I picked up from the local bakery this afternoon.”

Cas looked at Dean then rolled his eyes.

“Dean would love some pie,” Cas said. “Thank you.”

Ashley grinned over her shoulder at them.

“Good,” Ashley said. “Besides, you still haven’t managed to fill us in on what the hell is going on with Dillon, and I know Scott will be pissed later if you leave before he realizes he didn’t get any answers.”

“Right,” Dean said. It felt like a brick of anxiety had cemented itself to the depths of his stomach. How was he supposed to explain to these people that the reason Scott had to watch Dillon’s ghost burn was because Dean burned Dillon’s bones? He couldn’t imagine the rage he’d go through if he was in Scott’s place.

Scott came down the stairs just as Ashley was setting down three plates of berry pie on the table.

“Have you seen Dillon’s notebooks?” Scott asked Ashley. “I thought they were in his room still, but I looked everywhere and they’re not there. Maybe they got mixed up in the stuff your mom grabbed?”

“I haven’t gone through my storage unit, actually,” Ashley said. “I’m not sure. I don’t know why she would have grabbed those though.”

“What kind of notebooks were they?” Dean asked.

“Ones he started when we were overseas,” Scott said. “He would write out things that happened and things he remembered. Stuffed it full of pictures, drawings, feathers, rubbings from old gravestones and stone carvings. I used to tease him about his weird scrapbooking habit. Then, after Ashley and I had a really nasty fight one day after we got home, he let me borrow it. I got to read through the way he saw us and the world. It changed things.”

Ashley patted Scott’s shoulder. “The notebooks were important to him. Documenting the world and this life was important. He said it was because human lives were so short compared to his, he wanted to make sure he didn’t forget anything about us when we were gone and in our own heavens one day.”

Dean took a bite of the pie. He didn’t really know what to say about all that. It reminded him of his dad’s journal and how much that meant to him. He wondered if Cas had something like that or if it was something he’d like to have. That was a problem to tackle when they got back to the bunker.

“You think your mother-in-law took the notebooks?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know why she would,” Scott said. “She knew about them, but she was never a fan of Dillon. So I don’t know why she’d want to take them. Maybe she thought Ashley would want to have them.”

“We can go to the storage place in the morning to look for them,” Ashley said. She looked at Dean and pointed at him with her berry-filling stained fork. “Now, why don’t you two tell us what the hell is going on with Dillon and why Scott saw whatever the hell it was that happened at the theater the other night.”

“Dillon is a ghost,” Cas said.

Scott and Ashley looked from Cas to Dean with furrowed brows.

“What?” Scott asked. “I mean, I know I’ve seen some weird shit over the years and a lot of it had to do with Dillon, but ghosts aren’t real.”

“Can angels even become ghosts?” Ashley asked.

“We don’t know how it happened. We’re still looking into that part of it, but yeah, ghosts are real,” Dean said. “My brother found a video someone took at the film festival I mentioned when we first talked to Scott. Dillon appeared in the theater and started ranting about the movie being blasphemous and some other stuff. Then he flashed his wings to the crowd. We came out here thinking there was a rogue angel on the loose tormenting people.”

“It’s happened before,” Cas said.

“Yeah, your family gets a little wild,” Dean said to Cas. He turned to look at the others. “My brother and I caught last weekend’s movie. Dillon showed up there too. We were too far away to be able to do anything about it, but he looked like a ghost instead of an angel.”

“We snuck in the next night,” Cas said. “After we’d spoken to you, Scott. Dillon appeared to us in the theater and flashed his wings again.”

“Then he tried to attack you,” Dean said.

Cas rolled his eyes. “We don’t know how long he’s been a ghost, Dean. Time spent as a ghost can degrade a human’s personality and make them more irritable and easier to provoke. Why wouldn’t the same be true for angels?”

“You were there that night?” Scott asked.

“We snuck in right after they closed the doors for the evening,” Dean said. “We were in and out in under an hour.”

Scott nodded.

“I was there in the early morning hours,” Scott said. “He looked… Ghosts aren’t supposed to be real.”

“That’s what I thought about angels,” Dean said. He turned to Cas, remembering the barn where they’d first met. “I was wrong.”

“What happened when you were in the theater that night? What did you see?” Cas asked Scott.

“He showed up about the same time that I started to think I was crazy for breaking into a movie theater because of something two fake FBI agents said when they came to my house,” Scott said. He “I still want to know who you really are, by the way.”

“We’re hunters,” Dean said. “Ghosts, vampires, demons, rougarou, werewolves. All the stuff that goes bump in the night? We keep them in check and stop them from killing people.”

“Like _The X-Files_?” Ashley asked. “Are you two some kind of Midwest Mulder and Scully?”

Cas frowned. “I don’t understand that reference.”

“Really? All the crap Metatron downloaded to your brain and he didn’t include _The X-Files_?” Dean asked. “We’ll fix that when we get home. And, to answer your question, we kind of are. Except we’re not actually part of a government organization and aliens aren’t real.”

“Dean,” Cas said. “I’m not sure tha—.”

“No, nope,” Dean said. “I’ve accepted a lot of weird shit over the years, and I’m happy with believing that all the weird shit is central to this planet. Anyway, the monster hunting, crime solving, driving around a lot thing is pretty similar. Mulder’s little sister’s name is Samantha just like mine too.”

“Sam is not your sister,” Cas said. “And he doesn’t like being called Samantha.”

Dean shrugged.

“The falling for your partner thing too, I see,” Ashley said.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Did that answer your question, Scott?”

“I think the story about you guys being FBI agents sounds more believable,” Scott said. “If I hadn’t seen what I saw at the theater that night.”

“What did Dillon look like when he appeared?” Cas asked.

“See-through. He glowed the same color as his grace did whenever he was injured,” Scott said. “He showed me his wings. I was never able to see them before.”

“Did you ever see a shadow of them?” Dean asked.

“No,” Scott said.

“Most humans don’t _need_ to see them like that to believe they’re really talking to an angel; you’re unique like that,” Cas said.

Dean grunted.

“Did he talk to you?” Dean asked.

“He said that he wasn’t able to get into another vessel or back to Heaven,” Scott said. “Then he started rambling about being a sinner and needing to atone for his sins.”

Ashley scooted their empty plates away and took hold of Scott’s hand.

“I’m here,” she whispered to Scott.

Scott gave her a watery smile.

“Then he started to burn,” Scott said. “Is that something ghosts do a lot? I’ve never heard of that happening. Unless they died in a fire, but he didn’t.”

“No,” Dean said. “The only way you’d see a ghost burn up like that is if someone dug up their body, salted the bones, and burned them to ash. Or if someone burned an object tying them to Earth.”

“Wait,” Ashley said. “Did you fucking dig up Dillon’s body?”

“He was getting more violent,” Dean said. “It was only a matter of time before he lost too much of himself and attacked someone for real instead of just threatening to. I’ve seen it happen.”

“You dug up his grave and burned him?” Ashley asked. Her words were eerily calm, but her eyes were fiery with rage.

“Yes,” Dean said. “And I’m sorry.”

“It didn’t work,” Cas said.

“What do you mean it didn’t work?” Ashley asked. “Do you know how painful it was for Scott to watch the man he loved burn up before his eyes like that?”

“I cannot imagine the pain that caused you,” Cas said. “I am truly sorry for the pain we’ve caused you, but the burning did not work on Dillon. Yes, his ghost burned, but he reappeared this afternoon at a diner in town and attacked several people.”

Scott scrubbed his hands over his face. Then pressed his palms together and held his hands against his lips like he was praying. His cheeks were wet beneath his closed eyes. Ashley wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Dean felt like an ass.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said.

Scott sniffed and shook his head. When he opened his eyes they were red-rimmed and glossy with the tears that continued to run down his cheeks.

“You have no idea what that was like,” Scott said before he met and held Dean’s gaze. “A dark part of me wishes you did.”

Dean nodded.

Scott wiped away his tears and whispered with Ashley for a moment. He patted her hand on his shoulder. She squeezed the back of his neck with her hand in reassurance before letting him go.

After a few deep breaths, Scott seemed to collect himself as much as possible.

“Why would Dillon show up at a diner?” Scott asked.

“We’re not sure about that,” Dean said then turned to Cas. “Did he say anything about why he was there when you spoke to him?”

Cas shook his head.

“As I said after we saw the video the police had, he was speaking in Enochian and it was mostly battle cries,” Cas said. “Inside the diner, toward the end before he disappeared again, it seemed like he was trying to ask for help.”

“How does this happen?” Scott asked.

“We’ve never seen anything like this before,” Dean said. “My brother is reaching out to other hunters, and my mom is going through every piece of lore she can get her hands on trying to figure out how Dillon ended up as a ghost and how to fix it.”

“Your mom is also a hunter?” Ashley asked.

“The family business,” Dean said with a small smile. “Will you let us know when you find his journals?”

“Why, so you can burn those too?” Ashley asked.

“I hope not,” Dean said. “But they might have information that’ll help us understand what’s going on with him. Some clue to help us help him.”

“We’ll let you know,” Scott said.

“Thanks,” Dean said.

“There’s another showing for the film festival tomorrow night, isn’t there?” Scott asked.

“Yeah, there is,” Dean said.

“I’m guessing you guys are going to go there to see if Dillon appears again?” Scott asked.

“It’s the only lead we’ve got right now,” Dean said. “After the salt and burning and his appearance at the diner, we can’t be sure he’ll go back to the theater. If he doesn’t we’re running blind trying to find him.”

Scott nodded. “We’ll be there.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“Ashley and I will be at the theater with you,” Scott said.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Dean said.

“That wasn’t a request,” Ashley said. “We will be there whether we have your blessing or not.”

“Suit yourself,” Dean said. “Meet us out front of the theater about an hour before, and we’ll make a game plan. With six people there we can cover more ground. Maybe he’ll see you two and it’ll help him keep hold of his personality long enough for us to figure something out.”


	22. Castiel Summons Someone

Castiel listened as the last of the three Winchester’s breathing slowed while they fell asleep. Mary and Sam’s breathing was harder to hear in the motel room next door, but when he concentrated enough it was there. 

They were back in their original motel rooms in Prescott. Except for Sam who, once he realized Castiel and Dean had ‘finally gotten their shit together’ moved into the room Mary was staying in. 

Dean was sprawled over Castiel’s chest with his arms wrapped around his torso tightly.

So much had changed in the last forty-eight hours.

Dean had kissed him.

That was something Castiel had wanted to happen for years. When he was an angel he hadn’t been fully aware of what he wanted from the human, but he knew he preferred to be close to him. As close as possible. He’d known that any empty space between the two of them bothered him in the same way as when some of his feathers got turned around in the wrong direction and needed to be smoothed out. It was after the fall when he saw Dean again that he realized what the feelings he had toward Dean really meant.

Love. 

All of the irritation, blind devotion, desire to protect and be close to him? It was all love. An emotion angels were not supposed to feel, not like this.

He looked down at the human sleeping on his chest. Castiel had an arm wrapped around Dean’s upper back. His other hand rested on Dean’s shoulder where Castiel’s handprint used to be.

Moments like this made Castiel curse his old self. As an angel he’d done everything he could to follow orders and be good. Some of the things he’d had to do to stay good in the eyes of his angelic siblings were things he knew he wouldn’t be able to do now. Not unless it was necessary to protect these three humans he loved so much. Deep down, he’d known when he first spotted Dean’s soul in Hell that his life would never be the same.

Now Castiel was able to close the physical distance between himself and the human he was in love with. Keep Dean tangled up in his limbs while the sound of his heartbeat soothed the anxiety in Castiel’s mind.

Unfortunately, Castiel’s interaction with Dillon’s ghost in the diner that afternoon had made it clear that Castiel needed to do something to help his brother. He didn’t know how Dillon had gotten into the position he was in now, but he’d seemed terrified and confused. Dillon kept blaming Castiel for what was happening to him. If Dillon was in this situation because of the fall or something that Castiel did, then he needed to do something about it.

Castiel sighed.

Dean shifted in his sleep. His fingers tightened their hold on Castiel’s ribcage. Castiel carefully lifted a hand and ran it through Dean’s hair, hoping to calm the human down. Dean grunted at the touch and turned to burrow his face against Castiel's chest.

A tense moment passed where Castiel feared Dean would wake, but the human settled. Castiel passed his hand through Dean’s hair one more time, this time he used a bit of grace to nudge the human into a deeper sleep.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel whispered.

Castiel shifted out from under Dean’s body and pushed a warm pillow beneath the human for Dean to wrap himself around. He gave Dean a feather-light kiss on his temple. His eyes felt wet though he had no physical reason to produce tears. His wings shuddered with anxiety as he forced himself to stand and take a step away from the bed.

“I love you, Dean.”

Castiel slipped into Sam and Mary’s room, stopping at each of their beds. With a touch of his fingers and a bit of his grace, he was able to ensure that all of his human family stayed deep asleep long enough to buy him time.

“I’m sorry, Baby,” Castiel whispered to the Impala as he used his grace to pop open her trunk and riffled through Dean’s supplies. “My truck isn’t stocked well enough for what I need tonight. I promise I’ll keep them safe.”

With his stolen treasures, Castiel turned to his truck and got inside. As the engine purred to life he was once again thankful that it wasn’t as loud as the Impala. 

He stared at the empty cassette player on the dashboard. It was stupid, but he missed the cassette tape Dean had given him. 

After Castiel had nearly died from Michael’s lance, Dean had insisted on driving them to the bunker in Castiel’s truck. Dean had bitched and complained about Castiel not having any music in the truck. 

When Castiel had left the bunker shortly after, it had nearly broken his heart. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but he didn’t want to impose either and, more than that, he needed to fix what he’d screwed up with Lucifer and his child. 

Dean had followed him out to the truck that morning. At first, Castiel was sure Dean was going to ask him to stay with them, consequences be damned. Then, for the briefest moment, Castiel was sure Dean was going to kiss him. The moment passed, and instead Dean dug around in his jacket pocket and pulled out the cassette. He told Castiel that no car was complete without some kind of music to play in it, and if Castiel was intent on going, he’d need music to keep him company. 

Castiel had accepted the tape and Dean’s quick hug. There was another moment when they were pulling away that the air grew humid with the potential for a kiss. Castiel had almost thrown caution to the wind and closed the gap between them himself when the memory of freeing Lucifer came crashing down around him. With a heavy heart, Castiel had stepped away from Dean.

It wasn’t until Castiel had stopped for gas on his way out of town that he got his first good look at the cassette Dean had given him so nonchalantly. Dean’s handwriting was on the label, _Deans top 13 ZEPP TRAXX_. There was a faint sheen of Dean’s soul all over the tape. 

Dean had given him something important enough to carry part of his soul, and Castiel had lost it.

Castiel swiped away the tears in his eyes and shifted his truck into reverse.

Less than an hour later he was putting the finishing touches on the summoning sigil. He looked over the spell one last time, double checked the bowl with his ingredients, then lit a match. The spell ingredients flamed up, and a figure appeared in the summoning sigil.

Castiel looked the figure over. The man looked around the room they were in then at Castiel with a furrowed brow.

“You are not who I expected to summon me,” the man said.

“Hello, Dillon,” Castiel said. “We need to talk.”


	23. Theater Meetup

The line outside the movie theater was longer than the week before. Dean remembered that _City of Angels_ was a pretty popular film when it first came out. He’d even gone to see it with a waitress he’d hooked up with a few times back in the day. They’d spent most of the film making out and being handsy with one another, so he didn’t really remember the plot.

At least this time there was no awkward prayer circle outside the theater. There were a lot of murmurings running through the crowd about angels and belief and a couple people hoping they’d see the angel for themselves. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said. Cas turned away from where he’d been watching birds roost on the roof of a hotel across the street. “You ever been to a movie theater to watch a movie like this?”

“No,” Cas said. “I have never had the opportunity.”

“Not even when you were human?” Dean asked. “Hell, when we were growing up I’d scrounge every stray penny we could manage to take Sammy to the movies. Tried to do it at least once a month, especially during the summer when school was out and hunting picked up. Hot weather makes the monsters go crazy so Dad was away for longer during the summer.”

Cas looked away.

“My time as human was not…” Cas shook his head. “I’m glad you and Sam were able to watch films together like that. I’m sure it was nice to escape the challenges posed by your childhoods for a short time.”

Dean’s smile faded. He was an asshole. Of course Cas hadn’t gone to the movies when he was human. The guy was sleeping in the back room of a Gas-N-Sip for fuck’s sake.

He threw an arm around Cas’s shoulders making Cas turn to look at him with a confused expression.

“Tonight you are getting the quintessential movie theater experience,” Dean said. “We’re gonna get you a big bucket of popcorn smothered in weird fake butter. Follow it up with the biggest soda they’ve got and five boxes of candy.”

“Dean, I do not require food,” Cas said.

“But you’ll eat it anyway sometimes,” Dean said. “You need your strength up in case we end up in the middle of a fight tonight.”

“How is ‘weird fake butter’ adequate fuel for a fight?” Cas asked.

“It’s the experience, Cas,” Dean said.

Sam’s laughter as he approached made Dean forget the next point he was going to make to Cas about why buttered popcorn was important. Dean looked at his brother’s smiling face and fought the urge to fidget. Mary was nowhere to be seen.

“Glad to see nothing has really changed with you two,” Sam said. “You still bicker like an old married couple.”

“Why would things have changed?” Cas asked.

Dean stared at Cas. He could tell Sam replied to Cas’s question, but he didn’t hear it. All he could hear was the rushing of his own blood in his ears. Cas had asked the question like it was easy, obvious even that nothing would really change between them. It was something Dean had worried about for years, that giving into his own urges to touch and kiss Cas would permanently fuck with the way they interacted with each other.

What Cas said was true, too. Best Dean could tell, nothing had really changed between them. They would still piss each other off. Cas would still get confused and frustrated by human emotions. Dean would still forget to use his words, and it would take him a while to fully accept he could just reach out and pull the angel closer when he seemed too far away. They would still do stupid shit to save each other or get each other back if saving each other failed. The only thing that changed is they didn’t have to hide the real reason why they were doing all of those things. They loved each other.

Cas’s lips were moving like he was responding to something Sam said when Dean reached out to cup Cas’s cheek. Cas frowned at Dean before Dean leaned in to give him a kiss.

“Thank you,” Dean said to Cas as he pulled away from the kiss.

“Why are you thanking me?” Cas asked.

“For being you,” Dean said. He ran his thumb over Cas’s cheekbone then let his hand drop to his side.

Sam’s phone rang, and for the first time in weeks, Dean’s brother didn’t step away to answer a video call request. Sam held up his phone and answered with a smile.

“Hello, Eileen,” Sam said.

“Hi, Sam,” Eileen said. “Are you at the movie theater yet?”

“I just got here. Dean and Cas were holding my place in line.” Sam turned his cellphone around so Dean and Cas were able to see the screen.

“Hello, Eileen,” Cas said.

“Hey, Eileen,” Dean said. Dean grinned and waved at Eileen. “Have you met Cas yet?”

“I have not,” Eileen said. “It’s nice to meet you, Cas.”

Cas surprised the rest of them by signing and speaking his words back to her.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Eileen,” Cas said.

“You can sign,” Eileen said with a huge grin on her face. She pressed her lips together and signed something back. Cas looked at Dean for a moment, then turned back to Eileen and nodded. She laughed. “That’s awesome. You’re an angel, right? I didn’t know angels could understand ASL.”

“I am fluent in hundreds of languages,” Cas said. “I’ve forgotten the minutiae of thousands more that have fallen out of use.”

“Good, then Sam has someone else he can practice with while I’m away on hunts,” Eileen said.

“I would be happy to help Sam practice,” Cas said. 

“How are things?” Dean asked Eileen.

“Things are good,” Eileen said. She narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t know you two were together. Is that new?”

“Is what new?” Sam asked from behind the phone.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother.

“She can’t understand you if she can’t see you, Sam,” Dean said.

“I know that,” Sam said. “But I couldn’t hear the last thing she asked.”

“She wants to know if it’s new,” Dean said.

“Is _what_ new?” Sam asked again, growing frustrated.

“You didn’t tell her?” Dean asked.

“Tell her what Dean?” Sam asked.

Dean stared at his brother, and Sam gave Dean one of his best bitch faces in return.

“Seriously, Dean?” Sam asked.

Dean looked at Cas for a moment before planting an exaggerated kiss on his cheek. Then he turned back to Sam’s phone and gave Eileen an even bigger grin than before.

“Oh, she was asking about you two,” Sam said. He rolled his eyes and moved so he was standing next to Dean and in front of the cellphone screen again. “Yeah, they’re together now. It’s less weird than I thought it would be.”

“It’s awesome,” Dean said.

“It’s been good, yes,” Cas said. His hands kept up with his words as he spoke. “We should focus on the case.”

“Right,” Sam said. He turned his attention to the video chat on his phone. “Hey, have you gotten anywhere with that translation on the spell yet?”

“I guess it is new.” Eileen laughed and shook her head. “I can tell that you guys are talking, but the video quality sucks, so I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Dean slapped his brother on the arm that wasn’t holding the cellphone.

“Your moose arms are too long for her to be able to see us,” Dean said. “Gimme the phone.”

“It’s not because my arms are long, Dean,” Sam said as he moved the phone out of Dean’s reach. “The screen is too small for her to lip read three people at once.”

“Give it here,” Dean said.

Dean let go of Cas’s shoulders so he had a better chance of getting at Sam’s phone. Eileen’s laughter got louder as Dean chased Sam’s outstretched hand around the sidewalk. Finally, Dean resorted to playing dirty. A quick punch to Sam’s side and the cellphone was back at Dean’s level. Dean snatched it from his brother’s hand before Sam could recover and took a step away.

“Hi, Eileen,” Dean said.

“Hello again, Dean,” Eileen said. “Did you hurt Sam so you could get the phone from him?”

“Me?” Dean said. “Nah, he’ll be fine.”

Sam glared at Dean.

“If you say so,” Eileen said. “What were you guys trying to say to me?”

Cas moved to stand next to Dean and leaned over so his face was in the video chat window.

“Sam was asking about the translation on some spell,” Cas said. “What spell is he talking about?”

“One of my hunter contacts mentioned that he had a spell for binding angels to Earth after they’d died,” Eileen said.

“What do you mean binding angels to Earth?” Cas asked.

“Hold on,” Eileen said. She reached for something off screen and came back with a legal pad that Dean assumed was covered in notes. “We’ve only been able to translate part of it so far. It’ll take another couple hours or so to finish the rest. So far, it looks like a spell to turn an angel into something like a ghost. A ghost with angel powers who is bound to the will of whoever cast the spell.”

“Wait, you mean Dillon is under someone else’s control?” Dean asked.

“Who is Dillon?” Eileen asked.

“The angel we’re dealing with here in Arizona,” Dean said.

“His angelic name is Duma,” Cas said. “A name he was never really fond of.”

“Okay, yeah,” Eileen said. “Then it’s starting to look like Dillon is under a spell and being told what to do by someone else.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said.

“Dean,” Cas said. “I think it would be wise to stop talking.”

“What, why?” Dean asked.

“Ashley and Scott have arrived,” Cas said. “I imagine they will find this conversation disturbing.”

“Crap,” Dean said. He closed his eyes. “It was nice talking to you, Eileen. Thanks for the help on this one. Here’s Sammy.”

Dean handed the phone back to Sam and turned to face Ashley and Scott. Ashley hugged both Dean and Cas, Scott shook both their hands and Dean introduced the both of them to Sam—and Eileen through the video chat. Ashley and Scott seemed to be in good moods, something Dean hoped he didn’t end up ruining.

“Did you have any luck finding Dillon’s notebooks?” Dean asked.

“No,” Ashley said with a shake of her head.

“They're not at the house or in the storage unit Ashley’s mom set up for her. We're going to swing by her roommate’s house after the movie to see if they're there.” Scott shook his head. “I could have sworn I’d just seen them a few weeks ago. I was having an off day so I flipped through a couple of them one afternoon. Haven’t seen them since. Ashley’s mom stopped by shortly after that to grab some more of her stuff that she’d forgotten the first time, so we’re hoping it’s there or with her mom somewhere.”

“Let us know when you do find them,” Dean said.

Ashley ran her teeth over her lip and looked at Scott with a smile.

“We brought most of our stuff back to the house today,” Ashley said. “It’ll take another couple trips to get everything, but I feel so much better going back home.”

“Good for you guys,” Dean said. “If you need an extra pair of hands, Sam would love to help you out. Isn’t that right, Sammy?”

Sam looked away from his cellphone screen where he’d just finished wrapping up his conversation with Eileen. Judging from the gushy looking grin on Sam’s face that melted into a startled expression, he had no idea what Dean just volunteered him for.

“What?” Sam asked.

“See? He’d be happy to help,” Dean said.

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Scott said with a laugh.

“What about you guys, any luck on your end?” Ashley asked.

“Cas and me were doing research today,” Dean said with a nod. He kept nodding and flicked his gaze over to Cas who was staring at Dean with a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t find anything new, but it was good research. Best part of the job, really.”

“Yes,” Castiel said slowly while he stared at Dean. “We did ‘research’ this afternoon.”

Air quotes did not help back up Dean’s research story. Research was the first thing he could think of to explain why they’d gotten nothing done but each other, multiple times, all day. He’d told Sam and Mary that they were going to stay behind to do research and they had. For the first fifteen or twenty minutes, anyway.

They’d fooled around so much that Dean had even reluctantly agreed to let Cas mojo the aches away so that he’d be able to focus and move tonight. That hadn’t stopped Dean from tackling Cas one last time before they left so he could feel _something_ though.

“Oh. Oh, dammit, Dean,” Sam said. “I’m so glad I changed rooms.”

“What?” Dean asked.

“Aww,” Ashley said. “They’re in the honeymoon phase. That’s precious.”

Dean stared at her incredulously.

Scott patted Dean on the shoulder. 

“Just accept it and move on, man,” Scott said. “You should have seen her coo over Dillon and I sleeping in puppy piles with the rest of our team on trips and game nights.”

“Anyway,” Sam said. “While these two were… occupied, Mom and I met up with the detective investigating the murder of the people from your church, Ashley.”

“Do they know who killed them yet?” Ashley asked.

“No, unfortunately not,” Sam said. “They’re working on it, and we’ll do what we can to help. We just don’t have much to go on right now so that we can help.”

“Did you find out anything useful from the detective?” Dean asked.

“I did, actually,” Sam said. He pulled out his phone again, tapped through it for a moment, then handed it to Dean. “So get this, there was another murder about a year and a half before Dillon died. Months before any of the other murders.”

“Murdered?” Ashley asked.

Scott shushed her and looked at the disinterested crowd around them.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “It was another smiting victim.”

Dean stared at the crime scene photo on Sam’s phone. A middle-aged man with burnt out eyes was sitting on a park bench like he was about to feed the birds or something when the murdering angel found him.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said. “Why didn’t your detective friend let us know about this sooner?”

“We’re in Yavapai County here. That smiting victim was killed in Coconino County,” Sam said. “Different jurisdiction.”

“Where the hell is Coconino?” Dean asked.

“Flagstaff,” Sam said.

“Why couldn’t you have just said that?” Dean asked.

“Guys,” Scott said. “Is that really the important part of this right now?”

Dean ground his teeth together and looked back at the crime scene photo.

“How did he hear about this case?” Dean asked.

“He was talking with a friend of his that works up there about the body that was found earlier this week,” Sam said. “His friend sent over the case file on this smiting this morning.”

Dean locked Sam’s phone and handed it back to him.

“Did the Flagstaff police have any other leads or anything on that case that we haven’t found here so far?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. “No, they’ve got even less than we do.”

“Great,” Dean said.

The five of them settled into an uncomfortable silence. This case was fucking with Dean’s head, and he couldn’t help feel like he was missing something huge that was right in front of his face.

“Was that victim a churchgoer too?” Dean asked.

“Not anymore,” Sam said. “He was a lawyer for years before he found religion and decided to change his career. Three months before he died he dropped out of seminary school and moved from Prescott to Flagstaff.”

“Awesome,” Dean said. “Did he have ties to the same church as the other victims?”

“Uh,” Sam flipped through notes on his phone again. “He had ties to a few different churches over the last six years. The last one was a church called Risen here in Prescott.”

“That’s my church,” Ashley said. “The one my mom had me start going to after Scott and I separated a few months ago.”

Dean clenched his teeth.

He should have known the gun manufacturing plant was going to be a bust and insisted that he and Sam went to the church themselves to look for information. His mom hadn’t really hunted in thirty years—though it didn’t seem that long to her, but the world had changed a lot—and sending Cas into a house of worship without Dean there for support seemed cruel in retrospect. 

If he’d only known about the church connection before they’d split up for interviews. Or if he’d thought to have Cas and Mary check in before pursuing another lead that day, Dean might have been able to go there himself to look for clues instead of wasting time at the gun factory.

He wasn’t used to having this many people actively working a case with him. Trying to keep track of all the threads from that many people working together was overwhelming. 

“We’ll take another trip out to the church tomorrow morning,” Dean said. “Cas, you and Mom will stay behind. Sam and I will go in acting like we’re looking for a new church to attend.”

“I could do that too,” Cas said.

Dean gave him a sad smile.

“You already showed up there as an FBI agent, Cas,” Dean said. “Going in as a civilian before pulling out a badge is one thing. Doing it the other way puts people on edge.”

Cas didn’t look happy, but he nodded. Dean reached out to squeeze his hand. The touch made Cas’s scowl soften around the edges.

“When we get back to the bunker we’ll scout a case to work together,” Dean said. “I’ll teach you a few more tricks like I said I would, okay?”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said.

Dean smiled at him.

“Where is Mary?” Cas asked.

“She’s inside the theater flirting with the manager to get a private tour of the place,” Sam said.

Dean stared, wide-eyed at his brother. “She’s what?”

“Mom thought there was stuff we might have missed earlier in the week,” Sam said with a shrug. “We got here early so she could take a crack at it. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t done the same thing before.”

“Yeah, but she’s Mom,” Dean said.

“So?” Sam, Ashley and even Cas asked at the same time.

Dean closed his mouth and shook his head.

The smell of popcorn on the air made Dean’s stomach growl. He and Cas had definitely forgotten to stop fooling around long enough to feed the human part of their relationship that afternoon. A theater food fueled food coma sounded awesome right then.

“Hi, boys,” Mary’s said from behind them. Dean turned to look at her as she stuffed a handful of popcorn into her mouth and started crunching away at it. She held the bag out to him. “Want some?”

Dean took the bag from his mom. She smiled at him and pulled a napkin out of her jacket pocket to wipe her hands off with.

“Thanks,” Dean said before grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoving it into his mouth. Anything to keep himself from trying to talk to her about Cas. Or him. Or feelings. Or anything, really. He moaned around his mouthful of popcorn. “This is delicious.”

Mary’s smile widened, and she rolled her eyes.

“Glad to see your father wasn’t able to break you of the talking while you eat habit,” Mary said. “Hello again, Ashley. And you must be Scott.”

Dean watched his mom exchange pleasantries and small talk with the others while he ate his popcorn. He nudged Cas with his elbow and tilted the bag in the angel’s direction.

“Popcorn?” Dean asked.

Cas sighed. “I do not require food, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean said. He shook the bag enough to make the kernels roll around on each other. “It’s tasty though and part of the moviegoing experience.”

“I have eaten popcorn before,” Cas said.

“Not fresh from a movie theater,” Dean said. “This is different.”

“Aren’t they both popped corn kernels?” Cas asked.

“Eat the damn popcorn,” Dean said.

Cas rolled his eyes.

“Is this a teachable moment, then?” Cas asked.

“Sure,” Dean said.

“As you wish,” Cas said. He reached out and picked up one piece of popcorn from the bag. “Does this popcorn have the ‘weird fake butter’ you spoke of?”

“Yep,” Dean said with a grin. “It’s good, I promise.”

Cas opened his mouth and placed the popcorn on his tongue. As he began to chew, his brow furrowed in intense concentration like he wanted to study and analyze every new sensation of the experience. He’d worn the same expression that afternoon when he’d pinned Dean to the bed and spent an achingly long amount of time learning how to give a blowjob.

“How is it?” Dean asked. His voice was rough and deeper than it really needed to be when asking about popcorn, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“It tastes…” Cas paused. “I’m sure it tastes very good to human taste buds, Dean. Thank you.”

“Guys,” Sam said. Dean and Cas both looked at him. “Do I need to separate you two, or do you think you can keep your hands to yourselves for the next couple hours while we work the case?”

The childish part of Dean wanted to grab Cas by the tie and make out with him on the sidewalk out of spite. Sam’s bitch face told him that his brother really would make sure Dean and Cas were sitting on separate ends of the theater if Dean tried to push him right now.

“We’ll be fine,” Dean said. He ate another handful of popcorn.

“How was your private tour?” Sam asked Mary.

“The manager was cute, but boring,” Mary said.

“That’s helpful,” Dean said to himself between bites.

Mary looked at him.

“It was, actually,” Mary said. She pulled out her phone, and after a few moments of fussing with the fingerprint sensor not being able to read her thumb with the grease from the popcorn, she was finally able to open up her photo gallery. Dean leaned closer to look at her screen as she held it up to him.

“Are those sigils?” Dean asked. “Where’d you find those?”

“In the projection room of the screening room we saw Dillon in the other night,” Mary said.

“They look Enochian,” Cas said. “I don’t recognize the phrasing used here. It makes no sense.”

“What does it say?” Dean asked.

“It looks like it’s trying to say something about weaving together the soul of a human with the grace of an angel,” Cas said. He shook his head. “That’s impossible, though. Grace can be contained in some human forms, but the vessel’s soul is protected and kept away from our grace. It would be too dangerous to both the angel and the human to do otherwise.”

“Maybe that’s how whoever cast that spell has managed to bring Dillon back as a ghost,” Dean said. “Maybe _that_ is what a human soul held together with grace looks like. Cause I gotta say, with the glowing and the wings? He’s a funky looking ghost.”

Cas tilted his head at the screen. His narrowed eyes widened, and he took an abrupt step back. Dean cocked his head at him.

“What else did you see?” Dean asked.

“The sigil was drawn in blood. That’s typical for those kinds of symbols, though,” Cas said. He looked at Dean who studied his boyfriend’s expression. Cas wasn’t trying to suppress his feelings behind his blank angelic soldier mask, but he didn’t look as relaxed as he was earlier, either. “It’s nothing, Dean.”

“You sure?” Dean asked.

“The line is moving,” Cas said. “We should get our tickets.”

Before Dean could ask Cas why he was changing the subject, Mary pulled out a handful of tickets from her jacket pocket.

“I’ve already got that covered,” Mary said. She handed each of them a ticket then stole her bag of popcorn back from Dean. “They do free refills on these now. Did you know that?”

Sam laughed, and Dean couldn’t help but to join him.

“Yeah, Mom, I knew that,” Dean said. “You sure they didn’t do that when we were kids, too?”

Mary waved a hand in the air. “There’s a lot of things that used to be free or, at the very least, cheap when you were kids that aren’t anymore. Let me enjoy the few things that still are, okay?”

“It’s cool, Mom,” Sam said. “Enjoy as much as you can.”

Mary passed Sam the bag of popcorn.

“Would you mind getting that refill for me?” Mary asked. “Oh, and I’d like—.”

“Licorice?” Sam asked.

“How’d you know?” Mary asked.

Sam’s smile grew fond as he looked down for a moment.

“Dad used to buy licorice for all of us whenever we actually got to go to the movies together, which wasn’t very often,” Sam said. “He wanted to make sure we knew your favorite things even though you were gone.”

Mary reached up to cup Sam’s cheek. Sam leaned into the touch briefly, then lifted the popcorn bag.

“I’m gonna get that refill now,” Sam said.

“Find us seats too,” Mary said. “You and I should sit near the front. Ashley and Scott can be somewhere in the middle of the theater, near the aisle. Dean and Castiel will take the back of the theater.”

Sam nodded.

Ashley and Scott fell into step beside Sam as he made his way to the open doors of the theater. Dean turned to do the same when Mary reached out to stop him. Dean closed his eyes. Mary used her grip on Dean’s arm to turn him so he was facing her again. Dean let out a slow breath and met her gaze.

“How are you doing, Dean?” Mary asked.

Dean looked at Cas. How was he supposed to answer that?

“I’m fine,” Dean said.

Clearly, Sam’s bitch face expressions were hereditary, Dean thought when Mary frowned at him.

“Dean,” Mary said.

“What do you want me to say, Mom?” Dean asked. “You want to hear about how this case is messing with my head, and I’m worried that more people are going to die because I can’t focus enough to see patterns? Or maybe you want me to tell you how I think coming here to sit through another fucking angel movie is a waste of our time because Dillon isn’t trapped here anymore, and he’s getting more dangerous to people around him with every appearance. Or maybe…”

Dean looked at Cas again before stretching out his hand to take hold of Cas’s. There was a burning at the back of his eyes when he looked back at his mom.

“Or maybe I don’t want you to tell me you told me so for the rest of my life,” Dean said as he held up their joined hands for her to see while he spoke. 

Here he was, standing on the sidewalk of a small town in the Southwest holding the hand of the guy he was in love with and panicking about whether his mom would approve or not. If he was sixteen, this wouldn’t be so bad, but nearing forty? This was pathetic.

“Wait, is that why you’re so anxious?” Mary asked. “You think I disapprove of you and Cas?”

Dean blinked at her. “Are you saying you don’t?”

“Sweetheart, I thought you two were together when I first got back,” Mary said. “Which was a bit of a shock in the beginning, I’ll admit, but you seemed happy so I didn’t care. Then I realized that you two weren’t actually together, even though it seemed like you both wanted to be, which left me confused, but I assumed you had your reasons. And, hell, it’s not like I’ve been here to see how things have unfolded with you two so I could give you advice or anything. I figured you two would work it out in your own time, and you’d tell me whatever you needed to tell me when you were ready.”

Dean tightened his hold on Cas’s hand while he stared at his mom. Was it really that easy?

“Dean, Cas, I love you both,” Mary said. “I just want you to be happy. I’d never say I told you so. Not about this.”

“Thank you, Mary,” Cas said.

Mary pulled them both into a hug. Dean went into her arms numbly and stared at the sidewalk behind her. The line around them had dispersed while they’d talked. Mary patted them both on the cheek as she pulled away.

“What were you doing while we were out here in line?’” Cas asked.

Mary pushed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I called the Brits.”

“You did what?” Dean asked. “I thought we all agreed they weren’t trustworthy after they kidnapped and tortured Sam?”

“You’re right,” Mary said. “They aren’t, but they also have digital archives of books and lore we don’t have access to in the bunker. I called them to get access to it, telling them about the werewolf I was hunting last week. I made it sound like that was the case I was working now so they’d give me a login for their database. Sam did some kind of… I don’t know what he did, actually, but he said it would make it so they couldn’t keep track of what we looked at in their archives. Then he started duplicating their records into our own.”

“Wait, Sam knew you contacted those assholes too?” Dean asked.

“What were you looking up in their records?” Cas asked. “I thought you killed that werewolf.”

“Oh, no. I didn’t have to kill that werewolf,” Mary said. “She was newly turned, so I put her in touch with Dean’s friend, Garth. What I was really looking for was the information they had on angels and ghosts. I wanted to see if anything like this had happened over there that we could use to help us here.”

“Did you find anything?” Cas asked.

“Nothing Sam or I could make heads or tails of,” Mary said. “There was some more history behind the spell Eileen is working to translate, but nothing that explained the details of it or who could cast it or what they need to do it.”

Cas nodded.

“So we still have nothing is what you’re saying. Awesome,” Dean said. He shook his head. “Let’s go watch this stupid movie then and see if Dillon shows up or not. Then, when he doesn’t, we’ll look over everything we’ve got together. I want this case done before more people die.”


	24. Grace

Castiel braced his hands on the edges of the sink in the private bathroom for theater employees he’d snuck into. When he’d entered the concession line with Dean, Castiel had made up an excuse of wanting to check out more of the theater himself while the employees were otherwise distracted. As an angel, he could sense things Mary couldn’t. Dean had agreed to let Castiel go off on his own after minimal fussing once Castiel promised to try whatever food Dean found for them.

Castiel would need that food soon.

Dillon’s words from the night before when Castiel had summoned the ghostly angel echoed through Castiel’s mind. Dillon had explained how he remembered getting hit by the truck while riding his motorcycle. How his grace had done its best to heal his injuries there on the road when someone, or multiple someones, approached him and began to steal his grace. Then the light had faded from the world, and the next time he’d woken he was in the theater where Castiel stood now.

The bathroom mirror was frameless and smudged with fingerprints and smears from the dirty hand towel someone had used to clean it with last. There was a single warm fluorescent light above the mirror and brown boxes of overstock paper goods stacked in the corner opposite the toilet. A poster with a quote on it that Castiel knew was supposed to be funny, but actually made him feel sad hung on the back of the closed wooden door.

It wasn’t the ideal location for removing his own grace, but if Eileen’s source for the spell was even remotely correct, it was necessary to do sooner rather than later. His grace made him vulnerable to weapons used against angels. Castiel had hoped the class of angels he’d sense on Albert’s body weren’t involved in Dillon’s current situation, but Eileen’s news proved otherwise.

Dillon hadn’t remembered much from the spell. His memory was growing spotty the longer he spent as a ghost. It made it harder for Dillon to keep track of how many people he saw and who they were and who he was supposed to be angry at versus who he was supposed to love or ignore. Castiel’s heart had broken a little listening to Dillon describe the confusion and pain he was experiencing since falling under the spell that left him as a ghost.

Dean’s theory that a human’s soul mixed with an angel’s grace might have something to do with the spell left Castiel feeling troubled. That theory paired with the news that another person died from a smiting left Castiel convinced that he was next on the spell caster’s target list. If that was the case, Cas was determined not to make it easy on them.

His bright blue eyes stared back at him in the mirror. Lines from age and weariness etched the skin around them from his time as a human and the strain of containing Lucifer. Castiel closed his eyes.

From the inner pocket of his trench coat he pulled out a folding knife he’d borrowed from Baby’s trunk the night before. A bit of his grace passed over the blade, sanitizing the metal. The last thing he needed when freshly vulnerable to injury was an infection caused by whatever Dean had last used this knife for.

Castiel let out a steadying breath and brought the knife up to his throat, just over the pulse point.

His phone chimed.

He paused. With his grace he reached out through the theater to find Dean and the others to make sure they were okay. He couldn’t sense anything wrong. His wings started to bristle in irritation.

His phone chimed again.

With his free hand he retrieved his phone. There were two text messages from Dean.

_Heading to our seats now snacks in hand._

_You find anything yet?_

Castiel tapped out a quick response with his thumb and hit send, letting Dean know he hadn’t found anything but he wasn’t done yet. He put his phone on the edge of the sink and brought the knife up to his neck again.

Chime.

Castiel rolled his eyes at the mirror. He loved Dean, he did, but there were times he’d rather the man would shut up. Dean’s message displayed on Castiel’s phone screen.

_Don’t take forever. We can search after the movie is over._

Dean’s voice came through in a prayer shortly after Castiel finished reading the text message.

_I miss you, Cas._

It occurred to Cas that might be the last prayer he ever heard. The first time he became human he wasn’t prepared to take stock of his last prayer. 

He felt his lips begin to curl into a smile. His resolve steadied as he texted Dean back to say he would be there shortly. He didn’t tell Dean that he missed him too. Acknowledging whatever Dean said in his prayers out loud or in a text was usually something Dean hated.

He silenced his phone and put it back in his pocket to prevent further interruptions. There was a small metal vial on a long silver chain in his pocket that he pulled out. Enochian runes covered the vial in a protective layer to make it unnoticeable to angels, demons, and other creatures. Here his grace would be safe.

Once the cap was removed from the vial, he brought the knife tip to his throat again and pierced the skin. His grace began to seep from the wound immediately. Castiel set the knife down on the sink before moving his hand up to help urge the grace from his body. 

With his eyes closed, he was able to feel the parts of his body that still had grace in them. He could feel the wisps of it curl in on itself and bunch up as it prepared to leave his body and enter the vial. His angelic senses dulled as those of his body began to amplify. No longer could he feel Dean’s thread of anxiety echoing his heartbeat across the theater. The sound of air coming out of the air conditioning vent in the small bathroom was growing louder with each breath.

Breath.

He was breathing again for the first time in years. Castiel took in deep lungfuls of air. Everything in the theater seemed to be soaked in the scent of popcorn and fake butter, even the air. Castiel could taste it on his tongue, and he was tasting more than the molecules that made up the butter’s ingredients.

When only a quarter or less of his grace remained, Castiel coaxed the wound on his throat to close sealing the last of the grace in his body. He was now practically a human in terms of his ability to be hurt and his senses, but retained the use of that last bit of grace. He’d still appear as an angel, albeit a weakened one, to other angels too. With only a third of his grace intact he should be less vulnerable to angel weapons. His talk with Dillon the night before left him believing he’d need it.

He used a bit of the grace to seal the vial before putting it in his pocket. Then he eased the ache of hunger and fatigue in his body.

Looking in the mirror, he saw no immediate difference in his appearance. His posture remained the same even as the annoying, depressive voice in the back of his mind he remembered from lonely nights sleeping in the Gas-N-Sip’s backroom started questioning everything he did. For better or worse, he was prepared to take on whoever cast the spell on Dillon.


	25. City of Angels

Scott was sitting in the back row of the theater keeping two seats open when Dean got inside. Scott stood up and helped Dean unload the mass of snacks and drinks he’d gotten at the concession stand.

“Where’s the angel?” Scott asked as Dean was finally able to take his seat and reach out to take the bucket of popcorn Scott was holding for him.

“What, Cas?” Dean asked. “He’s giving the place another look around to see if my mom missed anything on her tour earlier.”

“Does he do that a lot?” Scott asked.

“Do what?” Dean asked.

Scott sat down next to Dean, keeping his body facing Dean’s as he did so.

“Go off by himself to check stuff out,” Scott said. “I thought you guys worked closer together than that.”

Dean pressed his lips together.

“We do. Sometimes,” Dean said. “Other times cases work out better when we can divide and conquer. Besides, one bumbling dork of a guy in an ill-fitting trench coat being someplace he’s not supposed to be is easier to explain away than two dudes wandering around where they shouldn’t be. That’s my experience anyway.”

Scott grinned. “I suppose it would be easier if your cover story was real. That whole FBI thing.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Why’d you let us in if you knew we weren’t legit, anyway?” Dean asked.

“Boredom?” Scott said. “Curiosity? Maybe some loneliness. You asked about Dillon, and I had to at least hear you out.”

Dean nodded.

“You ever thought of going legit?” Scott asked. “I’ve got a couple buddies who became feds after we got back to the states. I could put in a good word for you.”

Dean stared at Scott for a moment, frowning as he did so.

“You’re serious,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” Scott said. “You guys could use a spit shine and polish, but you’ve got potential. What do you say?”

Stunned silence followed. Dean genuinely didn’t know what to say. Had he thought about doing the normal life thing? Sure, absolutely, no matter how much the thought bored him to tears when it really got down to it. But a normal life had always meant a civilian life to him. No hunting, no cases, no solving puzzles, or saving people. When he was young and still believed John when he said it would be just one more hunt, that they were so close to finding the monster that killed Mary and then they could be normal again, Dean used to dream of growing up to be a firefighter.

Being a real FBI agent had never occurred to him.

He tilted his head to the side.

“Nah,” Dean said. “I wouldn’t do well with the rules and the paperwork and all that shit. It’s not like I’d pass a thorough background check at this point anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” Scott said. “When this is over though, keep that in mind. You ever run into trouble you guys can’t get out of—of the non-monster variety—give me a call. I’ve got some buddies who can help you out.”

“Thanks, man,” Dean said.

Scott nodded at him before making his way to the middle of the theater to join Ashley at their seats. They immediately exchanged a kiss that made Dean’s chest ache once they’d settled together. Then Scott wrapped his arm around Ashley’s shoulders and they began to talk to each other as the pre-trailers commercials and trivia bullshit started playing on the screen.

Dean moved the bucket of popcorn to the seat next to him, balancing it carefully on the folding seat cushion. He pulled out his phone and sent Cas a few quick text messages.

_Where’s the angel?_ That was a question Dean really wanted to stop having to ask or hear so often.

When it became clear that Cas wasn’t rushing back to him and would take the time he needed to explore the theater thoroughly, Dean sighed and put his phone away.

For the next several minutes he entertained himself with movie trivia and decided in what order he’d feed the snacks he’d bought to Cas. He was in the middle of a mental argument with the trivia writer about one of the answers not being entirely correct when he finally spotted Cas’s dark hair and trench coat in the crowd. Dean stood up and waved at his lover, grinning as Cas saw him and began to make his way up the stairs.

“Any luck?” Dean asked as Cas settled into the seat next to him.

“Nothing new,” Cas said. “I was unable to sneak into the projection room Mary found the sigil in.”

Dean glanced up at the glass windows looking into the projection room on the wall above them. Shadows moved back and forth as it grew closer to showtime for the movie.

“We’ll check it out after the movie,” Dean said. “I doubt we’ll see Dillon here tonight so we’ll need something to make this trip useful.”

“What makes you think he won’t show?” Cas asked.

Dean pulled out his phone and showed Cas the picture Mary had taken of the sigil that she’d texted to him. He pointed at the bottom right corner of the design.

“It’s broken,” Dean said. “There’s nothing tying him here. We saw that when he showed up at the diner yesterday. If I was him, I wouldn’t come back here. There’d be no reason to.”

Cas grabbed a small handful of popcorn and began to eat. “I suppose that’s true.”

“You get any more ideas about acting as bait?” Dean asked. 

Cas shook his head while he ate. “None.”

"Hopefully Sam and I can find something tomorrow at the church,” Dean said. “Maybe we’ll wear name tags. ‘Hot angel vessels ready for the taking.’ That should catch some attention.”

He’d expected a chuckle from that, but all he got in return was Cas staring at him while he stuffed more popcorn into his mouth. Everyone was a critic.

Dean watched him chew for a moment, then opened the first box of candy piled in his lap and held the box out to Cas. “Here, try these.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. Dean watched Cas’s eyes widen and his mouth twist into a smile as he chewed. After Cas swallowed, Dean held out the next open box to him. This time there was no eye rolling before Cas took a few pieces of candy and popped them into his mouth. They made it through all five boxes of candy Dean had purchased before the movie trailers started. Cas’s reactions to each of them varied from delight to confusion and, in one instance, revulsion. Before Dean could protest, Cas reached into his lap and stole the first box of candy, claiming it for himself.

“Hey, we’re supposed to share these,” Dean said. He wasn’t really perturbed, but it was the principal of the matter.

Cas shook his head.

“You can have those four.” He paused and tilted his head, then snatched another box of candy from Dean’s lap. “Three. You can have those three and I’ll keep these.”

“Asshole,” Dean said with an exaggerated huff.

Cas shrugged as he tossed more candy into his mouth. Dean’s angel boyfriend had a sweet tooth. Of course he did.

Dean went back to eating what was left of his candy.

“What movie is playing tonight?” Cas asked after he’d finished off the first box he’d stolen from Dean.

“ _City of Angels_ ,” Dean said.

“Have you ever seen it?” Cas asked.

Dean hesitated and stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth. He could feel Cas’s narrowed eyes boring a hole into the side of his head while Dean struggled to find a way to explain his first viewing of the film to an angel.

“You did see it,” Cas said. “On a date with someone.”

Dean nodded.

“Was it a good movie?” Cas asked.

“It’s a chick flick,” Dean said immediately.

“Yes,” Cas said. “And you enjoy those, which is why I’m asking if it was a good example of those films. Why are you nervous, Dean?”

Dean rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

“Yes, I saw the movie. Yes, it was on a date,” Dean said. Though he and the girl he’d gone with hadn’t really called it a date at the time. She’d just gotten off work, and her exhibitionist kink made her want to see how far they could go in a movie theater. “And I really don’t remember the plot of the movie or if it was good or not. Okay?”

“I don’t understand,” Cas said. “You have an exceptional memory for films you’ve seen. Even the ones you’ve seen only once a number of years ago. How do you not remember this one?”

Dean clenched his teeth and looked at the people sitting around them who were ignoring Dean and Cas’s conversation. He leaned closer to Cas.

“I don’t remember because we didn’t really _watch_ the movie when we went to it,” Dean said. Cas stared at him. “Oh for fuck’s sake. We were making out the whole time. Kinda hard to keep track of what’s going on up on the screen there when you’ve got your tongue in someone else’s mouth and you’re trying to keep their hands out of your pants so you don’t get arrested. Happy now?”

Dean sat back in his seat hard enough to make it rock a bit. Why did Cas always have to poke at everything? He was as bad as Sam sometimes.

“You’re embarrassed,” Cas said. “Dean, I’m well aware of the number of people you’ve ‘hooked up with’ over the years.” _That made one of them_ , Dean thought with a snort. “You’ve made no attempt to hide those encounters from me before,” Cas said. “Even if there were times I wished you would.” Dean looked at him. Cas stared back. “Why does it embarrass you now?”

“Because we’re together now,” Dean said. “It’s not… nice or polite or, I don’t know, pick one. To talk about people you’ve fucked before with the person you’re with now.”

“Why?” Cas asked.

“What do you mean why?” Dean asked.

“I assume the time you spent with your past lovers was pleasurable,” Cas said. “Why wouldn’t I want you to have pleasurable experiences?”

Dean let out an unsteady breath. Memories of the futuristic, post-apocalyptic world Zachariah had sent Dean to came to mind. Years had passed since that trip to the future, a future that didn’t happen—which Dean was still infinitely thankful for—but it still hurt to think about. It had broken his heart to see Cas stoned out of his mind and falling into bed with so many people like it was the only way to dull an ache he wasn’t willing to name. Watching that Cas’s heart crack even further apart when he spotted that Dean with Risa had nearly killed Dean.

The last thing he wanted was to push his Cas anywhere near those coping mechanisms or lines of thinking. Dean had been there, in that mindset or close to it, a number of times, and it was never healthy or happy. Yes, he’d had fun with most of the people he’d slept with over the years, but this was different.

“Remind me to get you a couple books on monogamy when we get home,” Dean said quietly. Cas’s stoned smile from the future hung around behind the back of his eyelids as Dean squeezed them shut. “And you’re never having prescription drugs, ever. Junk food, sex with me, a little drink once in a while, those are indulgences you can have and I’m cool with it. But not… just not that.”

“Dean?” Cas asked.

Dean took hold of Cas’s hand and held it tight.

“One day I’ll tell you the story,” Dean said. “Not right now. Just, trust me on the pills thing.”

Cas nodded.

The theater lights dimmed around them, and the trailers began to play. Dean only half paid attention to them. His hold on Cas’s hand was keeping him grounded in the present. He didn’t want to tempt his worst memories into taking him through a waking nightmare by letting his attention waver from the feel of Cas’s skin on his.

Cas’s breath warming the skin just below Dean’s ear startled him. He shivered at the sensation.

“Would you like to continue tradition?” Cas asked.

“Tradition?” Dean asked.

“You said the last time you watched this movie you spent the whole time making out,” Cas said. “Would you like to make it a tradition?”

“I thought you wanted to see a movie in the theater for real?” Dean asked.

Cas hummed indifferently.

“The trailers are boring, and the sound is a lot louder and more overwhelming than I thought it would be.” The tip of Cas’s nose traced the outer edge of Dean’s ear. Dean’s fingers tightened on Cas’s hand. “Besides, you’re very distracting.”

“Son of a…”

Dean grabbed Cas by the back of a head and pulled him into a heated kiss. Cas smiled against Dean’s mouth. Dean bit Cas’s bottom lip in retaliation.

“Asshole,” Dean said between kisses. “Here I was trying to do something nice for you and all you want to do is use my body.”

Cas growled into their next kiss.

“You are so much more than your body, Dean,” Cas said.

Dean groaned and curled his fingers in Cas’s hair. Cas let go of Dean’s hand and grabbed hold of Dean’s jacket so he could pull them closer. Dean was glad this theater had seats with folding armrests so they could get as close as possible.

They made out long enough that Dean was starting to mentally plan out how he was going to get them both out of the theater to somewhere private without having to stop kissing Cas first. Then, the movie caught his attention, and Dean tore away from the kiss.

“Did they just say your name?” Dean asked.

“What?” Cas asked.

Dean looked at his lover in the light from the movie screen. Cas’s hair stood up at ridiculous angles, his lips were swollen, and his glare reminded Dean of a stray cat getting pissed that someone had interrupted its dinner. Dean grinned.

“In the movie,” Dean said. “I think they said your name.”

Cas’s scowl deepened and he turned to face the screen. They watched the movie for a few minutes as Nicholas Cage talked with Cuba Gooding Jr. Dean leaned closer to Cas.

“Hollywood you is hot,” Dean said.

“That is _not_ me,” Cas said. “That angel’s name is Cassiel. Not Castiel. He’s an entirely different angel.”

“Chuck was not very creative when he named you guys,” Dean said.

Cas folded his arms and settled into his own seat. Dean leaned in to give Cas another kiss, but Cas pulled away. Crap, that wasn’t good.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked.

“You mistook me for another angel,” Cas said. “I should start calling you Doug.”

Dean blinked.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Dean said. “They sound alike.”

Cas’s head turned very slowly, then Dean was pinned in place by Cas’s glare. Nope, really not good. Dean should stop talking immediately.

Faster than Dean could see, Cas reached out and grabbed hold of Dean’s shirt and tugged. When their faces were inches apart Cas started talking fast and low, like his voice had to travel through gravel before it left his lips.

“Perhaps I should make you repeat my name tonight in bed until I’m satisfied that you will not make such a mistake again,” Cas said.

There was a very real chance that if Dean was still in his twenties right now, he would have just come in his jeans. Even now it would only take a few tight strokes of Cas’s big hands on him to turn Dean into a whimpering mess. He felt himself start to nod. His breath rattled around in his chest as the back of Cas’s knuckles dug into Dean’s sternum.

“We-we could, uh, go do that now,” Dean said, swallowing hard as he fought to keep his voice steady. “Mom and Sam can totally handle this one. They don’t need us here.”

Cas released his hold on Dean’s shirt and patted him on the chest. “No, you can wait.”

Dean’s angel boyfriend was a fucking sadist. Of course he was.

They settled in to watch the movie. An eerie sense of deja vu wrapped around Dean’s bones as he watched Nicholas Cage as an angel fall in love with the very human Meg Ryan and give everything up for her. Watching Meg Ryan fall for him in return felt familiar. Dean snorted when the other angels in the film protested the love between the two characters. At least Hollywood got something write about the junkless bastards.

Then came the accident. The one that took Meg Ryan’s character from joyful and full of life to dead within minutes. Dean’s eyes burned as Nicholas Cage’s character begged his brother to bring her back.

Cas gasped, and Dean turned to face him. Thick tears spilled over Cas’s cheeks as he stared, anguished at the screen. Dean wanted to erase this movie from existence for making Cas look like that. He reached for Cas’s hand. His touch seemed to break the trance Cas was in because he turned to look at Dean with that same anguished expression, then shook his head back and forth. Dean curled his fingers around Cas’s hand.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked. Again, he was thankful Cas had missed the last film from the festival. Seeing his reaction to this human and angel tragedy movie was painful enough without adding the movie version of a trip through Hell to save the one you love to it.

Nicholas Cage’s character grieved on the screen, then started to wax poetic about how he was grateful for the time he’d had with Meg Ryan’s character. Dean wished he had a remote to turn the damn thing off.

“I need…” Cas shook his head then tore his hand from Dean’s grasp and stood up.

“Cas,” Dean said as Cas made his way through the row of seats to the aisle leading down the stairs.

Dean shoved the pile of empty snack boxes and popcorn tub unceremoniously off his lap before following his angel. Cas was halfway down the stairs by the time Dean reached the top of them. People in the audience began to stand up and make their way to the stairs. Many of them began to kneel and hold up their hands in benediction as the movie drew to a close and the ending music began to play. The throng of the crowd blocked his path to Cas as the angel reached the bottom of the stairs and headed for the door. Dean was about to pull out his gun to shoot at the ceiling so that people were convinced they should let him through when the lights began to flicker.

To Dean’s right and a handful of stairs down, Dillon appeared in front of the kneeling crowd. People cried out. People prayed. People begged for forgiveness and healing. Dillon paid them no attention. Ashley’s voice pierced through the crowd as she called out to Dillon, but still he gave no indication that he recognized where he was or who was around him. Dean caught Scott’s distraught expression in the crowd. He and Ashley were holding each other and staring at Dillon as Dillon began to speak at the crowd around him.

Dillon spoke of blasphemy. He spoke of how terrible it was for an angel to deign to fall in love with something as lowly as a human.

Dean watched Scott look away in shame. Resolved, Dean started to push his way through the crowd again.

“Dillon,” Dean called out. “Duma, look at me you son of a bitch.”

Dillon’s ghostly head turned in the most unnatural, slow moving, purposeful way as he shifted to look directly into Dean’s eyes. His gaze was like ice piercing through to Dean’s core. 

Each time Dean had come face-to-face with Dillon’s ghost before had been a little unnerving. Something about the way Dillon was moving this time seemed different. More disturbing than before.

Dean glanced at Scott and Ashley again. He really hoped Eilleen would be able to finish translating that spell quick enough for them to find a way to reverse what had happened to Dillon. That wouldn’t bring his vessel back but they could figure out something.

“Duma, we’re here to help you,” Dean said. “But you gotta stop with the stage show. It’s freaking people out.”

Naturally, because Dean’s luck in life was terrible, Dillon smiled before flaring his wings out behind him like a fucking eagle. The crowd around them gasped and started to cry as the calls for forgiveness and praise grew louder.

“Yeah, that’s the opposite of stopping,” Dean said. “Come on, peacock. Put your wings away and come with me. We’ll get you all sorted out.”

“Dean,” Dillon said in a slow, horrifying tone. Dillon cocked his head to the side like he was listening to someone whisper to him. His smile grew toothy and unnaturally wide then he looked directly at Dean once more. “Thank you, Dean Winchester. You’ve done well.”

“I did what now?” Dean asked.

“The rebel,” Dillon said. Goosebumps ran down Dean’s spine. “You delivered the rebel directly to me.”

Dean looked through the crowd once more. Cas was nowhere to be seen. Unease curled in his stomach. They’d agreed that Dean would be the bait. He was the unused vessel, not Cas. Why had he let Cas run away like that? What if whoever had bespelled Dillon had taken the opportunity to snatch Cas while Dean faced off with a ghost?

Dean decided to play dumb with the hope it would keep Dillon talking long enough to give Dean answers.

“What rebel are you talking about?” Dean asked.

“Castiel,” Dillon said in the same disturbing voice he’d said Dean’s name in. “The rebel. My master has plans for him.”

A gunshot rang out in the theater. People screamed and started to run away from where Dillon stood. Mary stood several steps down from Dillon with her gun pointed at the ceiling and a fierce expression on her face. Sam had that uncomfortable, shifty look on his face as he looked from his mom to the terrified crowd around them. 

The two security guards Dean had seen at the last showing pulled their own weapons. He could see their hands shaking from where he stood several rows away. Dean pulled out his FBI badge at the same time as Sam, Mary, and even Scott pulled out their own badges. Dean would have to ask Scott where he’d gotten his fake badge from.

The guards looked at the badges then each other and lowered their weapons.

Sam approached the guards as the crowd filtered out of the room. Dean couldn’t hear what Sam was telling the guards, but he trusted his brother to handle the situation. 

Dean turned back to where Dillon was standing and found that the ghost had disappeared. He looked around the theater with narrowed eyes. 

The lights in the room cut out entirely. Someone screamed. One hammering, adrenaline laced heartbeat later, the lights came back on and Dean saw that Dillon was standing directly in front of him. Dean ground his teeth to keep himself still because Dillon’s smile was about a thousand times more creepy when it was inches away.

“What did you do with Cas?” Dean asked.

“Nothing yet, Monkey,” Dillon said. Dean was getting _real_ fucking tired of that derogatory term for humans from members of Cas’s old feathery family. “My master on the other hand? Well, that’s another matter entirely.”

Then Dillon flew into the air and spread his arms out to mirror his wingspan.

“Leave Cas alone,” Dean said.

“His name is Castiel,” Dillon said.

“Dillon,” Scott called out. “What are you doing?”

Dillon’s creepy expression faltered for a moment. He kept his back to Scott as he stared down at Dean. “That’s not my name.”

“Yes, it is,” Scott said. “You’re Dillon Bonner. You’re a medic. You _save_ people, dammit.”

“You know nothing,” Dillon said.

Scott moved up the stairs until he was standing by Dean’s side.

“I know _you_ ,” Scott said. “I know you love helping people. I know you’re obsessed with sitcoms, even the terrible ones that didn’t get to finish their first season because you think they’re ‘excellent examples of human life.’ I know you love to steal Ashley’s tea in the morning because coffee offends you for reasons we could never pin down. I know she kissed you and you kissed back and you’ve felt guilty about it ever since. I know…” Scott’s voice broke as he took a step forward. “I know you’re in love with both of us. What _you_ don’t know is that we feel the same.”

“I’m an angel,” Dillon said. “I don’t… I can’t love humans. Not like that.”

“But you do,” Scott said. “You _do_ love us. Both of us. I was too much of a coward before you died to tell you that I felt the same. I was afraid I’d lose you both or that I’d have to choose and I couldn’t handle it. Then you were gone and now I’m hearing that you weren’t just gone, but someone had _taken_ you from me. From us.” Scott shook his head. Dillon flapped his wings, his eyes wandered everywhere around the room while still managing to avoid both Scott and Ashley. “Let us help you.”

“Please, Dillon,” Ashley said as she moved onto the stairs. “We have friends here who can help you.”

Dillon started to shake his head. Slowly at first and then faster. His wings twitched and he bobbed in the air above them.

“We love you, Dillon,” Ashley said.

“That’s not my name,” Dillon said quietly.

“Duma,” Dean said. “You guys can sense lies, right? Are they lying?”

Dillon’s attention snapped toward Dean and once again pinned Dean down with his ice cold stare. He flapped his wings and flew closer to the ceiling like he wanted to look down on the group of humans below him.

“Whether they believe their lies or not means nothing to me,” Dillon said. “You humans have caused my master enough trouble. I will punish you all.”

Another gunshot rang out through the air. Bits of rock salt rained down on them as Dillon’s ghostly apparition disappeared into swirls of blue-grace glowing smoke. Dean looked at Mary in disbelief.

“Wrong answer,” Mary said as she lowered the sawed-off shotgun she’d somehow snuck into the movie theater until it was pointed at the floor. “New plan. Do you think we can summon him like a regular angel while Eileen translates a counter spell?”

Dean pulled out his phone and tried calling Cas. The phone rang and rang in his ear before going to voicemail. Dean hung up and gripped the phone tight enough that it began to bite into his skin.

Mary and the others talked amongst themselves, but Dean wasn’t listening to a word they said.

“They have Cas,” Dean said. “I need to find him.”

Sam came up the stairs. “Are you sure they have him?”

“The first thing Dillon said when he noticed me was to thank me for bringing him the rebel,” Dean said. “He said his master had plans for Cas. We’ve gotta find him.”

Sam pulled out his phone.

“I’ve got a tracking app,” Sam said. “Give me a second to pull up his phone information and we should be able to see where they’ve taken him.”

Dean paced while Sam did his thing.

“Here it is,” Sam said. He listed off the cross streets, and Ashley grabbed the phone from his hands.

“That’s where my mom lives,” Ashley said.

Dean pointed at Scott. “Can you get me there?”

“I can,” Scott said.

“Good,” Dean said. “Mom, Sam, Ashley. You three stay here and make sure the police know we weren’t spree killers trying to start chaos or anything. Meet us there as soon as you can.”


	26. To Bear

Consciousness came back to Castiel slowly. Like the sun rising over the earth or the eons of time he’d spent watching humans on Earth evolving from his perch in Heaven. His eyes felt scratchy and raw from the tears he’d shed during the movie, but it was the pain in his head that demanded most of his attention.

He remembered the last moments of the movie playing out across the screen and losing control of his emotions as the story drew to a close. Castiel had chosen to run away rather than explain to Dean why he suddenly couldn’t control his human feelings. He remembered pushing through the crowd at the bottom of the stairs and practically running down the dark hallway and out of the screening room for the movie. He’d stumbled to the lobby and stopped to take a drink from the water fountain. Then he’d heard a voice behind him that was… familiar.

Castiel opened his eyes and winced at the light coming from the uncovered light bulb hanging several feet in front of him. He was standing up, but tied in place. His arms were spread out at shoulder height to his sides. He was surprised they were using rope to secure him instead of something a little more foolproof like Enochian handcuffs. Maybe the Men of Letters really did have an advantage on the gadgets they’d procured or created over the years.

“Ah, you’re awake,” that same familiar voice said from somewhere else in the room.

“Ricky?” Castiel asked. He squinted at the light and looked at his surroundings. They were in some kind of basement. Ricky was standing off to Cas's left with a big grin on his face.  The wound on his head from the encounter in the diner yesterday was gone. “Where are we?”

“That doesn’t really matter,” Ricky said. “At least, it doesn’t matter for you. Pretty soon you’ll be doing whatever my master and I want you to do.”

Castiel barely resisted rolling his eyes.

“Now what?” Castiel asked. “Am I supposed to just hang here until your boss comes back?”

Ricky’s grin grew wider.

Castiel tugged at the restraints on his wrists.

“No, now we wait for the winged puppet to get here,” Ricky said. “He’s supposed to be bringing the last of the stuff my master needs to finish his mission.”

“And what’s his mission?” Castiel asked.

“You’re to join me, of course,” another voice said. Dillon’s ghostly apparition appeared to Castiel’s right. He looked less aware of his surroundings here in the basement than he had when Castiel had summoned him the night before. The distant look in Dillon’s eyes reminded Castiel of the way Dillon looked in the diner when Castiel had tried to talk him into letting the humans go. “It’s been a long, long time, Castiel. My how you’ve changed.”

Castiel stared at Dillon. Though the ghost was of the angel’s vessel, there was still a shadow of Dillon’s true form ghosted around the vessel’s edges visible with what remained of Castiel’s grace. That hadn’t shown up when Castiel looked at him before. Why was that? Had Dillon’s captors tightened their hold on him? Was the story Dillon told him last night all a lie?

From the corner of Castiel’s eye he saw Ricky pull a long, engraved blade from a duffel bag on the floor. It looked like the kind of blade used by _The Royal Guard_.

Castiel’s eyes widened.

“Duma?” Castiel asked. He needed to carry on acting surprised for as long as possible here if he wanted a shot at finding out who was controlling Dillon and stopping them. Ricky was obviously involved, something Castiel hadn’t anticipated, but he didn’t seem like the mastermind here. That blade definitely didn’t belong to the waiter.

“In the flesh,” Duma said as he spread his hands and the ghostly wings behind him. “Well, perhaps that term doesn’t apply here. Regardless, it is me.”

“But… how?” Castiel asked.

Duma tsk-ed and shook his head.

“Castiel, Castiel,” Duma said. “I’m the angel of dreams, remember? As I was dying, I dreamt of continuing to survive beyond the standard perception of life that angels and humans have. So, here we are.”

“Why would you want to come back as a ghost?” Castiel asked. “What can a ghost do that an angel can’t? You can fly anywhere you want as an angel. It’s not like you need to walk through walls.”

In less time than it took Castiel to blink, Dillon moved from across the room to inches away from Castiel’s face. This close, with Castiel’s lowered levels of grace making his eyes near human, Castiel had to squint against the glare from Dillon’s ghostly glow. Radiating white-hot heat from Dillon’s form warmed Castiel’s skin until he felt the need to pull his head back against the board behind him to get away from it.

“No, Castiel,” Dillon said. His voice was cold and razor sharp as he spoke. Castiel’s near-human senses fought between focusing on Dillon’s grace colored eyes and the wall Castiel could see through the other side of Dillon. “I _used_ to be able to fly anywhere. Whenever the mood struck me I was halfway across this little world watching the humans crawl around like ants from the top of their great pyramids or mountain peaks. Then you happened.”

Castiel’s stomach sank.

“You, Heaven’s newest _rebel_ ,” Dillon said. Castiel clenched his teeth and forced himself to hold Dillon’s gaze. “I could fly anywhere I wanted until you got involved. Until you made us all fall. My wings burned from my back where I stood on the ground. Did you listen to your brothers and sisters crying out in agony, Castiel? Did you wake with our blood on your hands?”

“I never meant for that to happen,” Castiel said, though he knew it was useless to argue.

The lights in the room dimmed as Dillon’s wings stretched out.

“Before I died my wings were in tatters,” Dillon said. “My feathers burned. Every inch of them _ached_. Then I came back in this form.” Dillon held out his hand and looked at it in wonder as he shifted his fingers. “I can see through myself, but my wings came back to me.”

Dillon reached out and grabbed Castiel by the throat. His thumb brushed over the healed patch of skin where Castiel had cut himself to extract his grace. Dillon paused. Then his grip tightened. He might be see-through, but Dillon was still corporeal enough to strangle Castiel where he stood.

“I should rid the world of you, rebel,” Dillon said.

“Stop this, Dillon,” Castiel said. “What would Scott and Ashley think of you doing this? They love you.”

Dillon’s grip on Castiel’s neck loosened enough that Castiel was able to take in a deep breath.

“I’ve spoken to them, Dillon,” Castiel said. “They want you back, and we have the resources to make that happen. Let me go and come with me. I can get them back to you.”

Castiel knew he was exaggerating the truth, but if there was one thing the Winchesters—and by extension, Castiel—were known for, it was pulling off the impossible. If anyone could bring Dillon back to the humans he loved, it was them.

“He’s lying,” Ricky said. “Master made sure there was no way to restore you, puppet. The rebel is lying to you.”

Castiel glared at the waiter as best he could. Why did Castiel have such a terrible record with trusting the wrong people?

Dillon’s fingers on Castiel’s throat tightened. His eyes flared with an extra concentration of grace making Castiel squint at the bright light. The world was starting to dim around the edges as Dillon began to make a vengeful sound in the back of his throat. Castiel opened his mouth to gasp for breath, to cry for help, but all that came out was the pitying cry of an animal about to die. He stared at Dillon.

Gone was the angel who’d pleaded for Castiel’s help from the summoning circle the night before. The one who’d told Castiel everything he knew about what he was now and how he’d gotten to be that way. In Dillon’s place stood Duma, the angelic soldier Castiel recognized as being the one to escort him to Naomi between times of fuzzy memories.

This was not ideal.

“Down boy,” said a voice from the other side of the basement.

Dillon growled under his breath and squeezed harder on Castiel’s throat. Castiel was thankful he’d left some of his grace in his body, it was likely the only thing keeping him from passing out right then.

“Master said stop, puppet,” Ricky said.

Castiel vaguely caught sight of Ricky making some kind of gesture with the blade in his hand. Then Castiel could breathe again. He panted and took gulping breaths as he realized Dillon was on the other side of the room. Ricky was saying something to Dillon that Castiel didn’t catch. Movement behind both of them stole his attention.

A man walked slowly down the basement stairs. Castiel ignored Ricky and Dillon as they continued to speak in favor of watching the man. No, not a man. He was an angel. The angel Castiel had sensed on the smiting victim’s body in the morgue.

“Kushiel?” Castiel asked.

Terror coated his tongue as Castiel fought to school his features and lift his chin. Kushiel was one of God’s Enforcers, known for punishing souls in Hell and, when the occasion called for it, even other angels in Heaven. The things Castiel had seen Kushiel do to their brothers and sisters had disturbed and haunted him for hundreds of thousands of years.

“Hello, Castiel,” Kushiel said as he came to stand in front of Castiel on the cross. “It’s been a long time, dear brother.”

Castiel swallowed hard.

“You were at the church,” Castiel said. Kushiel was using the man William from the church as his vessel. “How could I not see you at the church?”

Kushiel’s smile slithered wider.

“I didn’t want you to see me, Castiel,” Kushiel said. “I wanted to study you. Heaven has spun so many stories of the angel you’d become. I had to witness how far you’d fallen for myself.”

“Do you like what you see?” Castiel asked. He forced himself to hold Kushiel’s gaze.

Kushiel walked past Dillon, looking him over with a raised eyebrow before turning back to Castiel. He walked closer, his eyes roved over Castiel. Kushiel didn’t seem to really see Castiel, he seemed to be studying him. Finding weak points and strengths hidden within him.

“You have potential,” Kushiel said. “I always thought so. We tried getting you promoted to work with us an eon ago. Naomi said you were trouble, but I always believed that trouble could be focused, harnessed for our work. You’ve always had such anger in you, Castiel.”

Kushiel reached out to cup Castiel’s cheek. His thumb brushed over Castiel’s skin in a stomach turning mockery of the same affection Dean had showed Castiel in the past few days. 

Castiel clenched his teeth.

“I’m getting very tired of others telling me who I am,” Castiel said.

“There it is,” Kushiel said. “That rage I noticed in you when you were a fledgling. You’ll be very useful to me.”

Castiel glared back at him.

“Ricky,” Kushiel said as he let go of Castiel and turned to look at the others. “Take Duma upstairs, and gather the rest of the supplies for the spell. It’s time for Castiel to learn to follow orders.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Castiel said.

The back of Kushiel’s hand connected against Castiel’s cheek with a loud crack. Castiel blinked repeatedly as the world swam and his vision doubled.

“Get those rebellious words out while you still can, Castiel,” Kushiel said. “Soon your tongue and spirit will be mine.”

The world around Castiel dimmed. In the distance he thought he heard something explode or slam followed by a scream that reminded him of the battlefields of war.


	27. Dean "Fight Me" Winchester

Dean should’ve waited for Scott to catch up to his all out sprint over the dark lawn before Dean busted down the door to the basement along the side of the house. He should’ve let Scott lead this retrieval mission to keep Dean from getting someone killed because he couldn’t keep his emotions in check right now. He should’ve been psyching himself up to put on the mask that let him witness the world detached and methodical so he could react like daddy’s good little soldier the way he was trained.

But right then he fucking couldn’t.

Dean kicked in the basement door with his gun raised. Scott called out his name as Dean rushed through the now open door into the underground room.

Part of him was expecting to find Cas on another dirty plaid couch, bleeding out with a reaper breathing down his neck. He wasn’t prepared for what he did find.

Cas was strung up on a giant wooden cross in front of the far wall of the basement. There were colorful Christmas lights draped along the wall behind him and a single bare white bulb hanging from the ceiling about five feet in front of Cas. The whole thing bathed him in an eerie glow suggestive of his angelic origin. A ring of holy fire caught light as Dean entered the basement like it was on some kind of timer or whoever had taken Cas had a wicked sense of humor and was waiting for the dramatic timing to be right.

Cas's wrists were tied to the arms of the cross and another rope was tied around his ribcage. The tips of his black dress shoes touched the floor. He was bleeding from his temple.

Dean clenched his teeth to keep from screaming like a pissed off animal.

He swallowed hard as he looked past a strange guy in a tailored suit to stare at Cas strung up on the cross on the other side of the basement. When Dean and Cas had talked about using one of them as bait, they’d agreed that trying it at the church would be their best option since that’s where the smiting victims were related back to. They were supposed to have a whole other day to prepare before Cas was actually at any risk. Then he’d gone missing at the theater.

The guy in the fitted suit stepped into Dean’s line of sight and gave Dean a slippery smile.

“Dean Winchester,” the man said. “Castiel’s pet monkey here in the flesh.”

The man looked Dean up and down. Though, judging by that monkey comment, Dean assumed the guy wasn’t actually a guy but another angel. The angel’s lip curled in distaste.

“Hey man, if you wanted to meet me, all you had to do was ask,” Dean said. “Have your people call my people and all that.”

“Castiel, I didn’t realize your taste had soured so much,” the angel said over his shoulder. “We’d always suspected there was something more to the falling out between you and Balthazar, but to know that you prefer _this_ to one of our own?” The angel clucked his tongue. “I’m surprised you didn’t end up on one of our mission lists sooner.”

Dean got the feeling this jackass wasn’t just a regular angel, he was one of those _Royal Guard_ types Cas had told him about.

“Yeah, well, I’m taking him off your list now,” Dean said as he took a step closer. “If you let Cas go without a fight, I’ll kill you quick.”

The man threw his head back as he laughed.

“You humans are truly adorable creatures sometimes,” the angel said. “But no, I will not be letting Castiel go.”

“Wrong answer,” Dean said.

Dean pulled out his angel blade and flipped it in the air so the tip pointed at the ceiling before closing the gap between him and the angel. He bent his knees and pushed up with the full weight of his body behind his movement as he ran the angel through with the blade. He pushed the blade deep enough to puncture through the angel’s lungs and clip the tip of the blade on the angel’s collarbone.

There should be disco lights as the angel flickered out happening by now.

Dean twisted the blade in his hand, desperate to do as much damage and inflict as much pain as he possibly could. This son of a bitch had hurt Cas like too many other angels before him had. Dean hadn’t been there for most of those times—too many of them to count—but he was here now. This one wouldn’t get away with it.

The angel looked down at the angel blade buried hilt deep in his chest and raised an eyebrow.

“Are you quite finished?” the angel asked. Before Dean could respond, the angel flicked his fingers in Dean’s direction, then Dean was flying across the room. His back hit the wall about chest high and fell to the cement floor like a palette of bricks. Dean shook his head until his eyes could focus again. He watched as the angel pulled the angel blade from his chest, looked it over and dropped it to the ground like it was a piece of soiled tissue paper. “You’ve ruined my suit, Monkey.”

“Kushiel, leave him alone,” Cas said. His voice sounded rougher than normal and weaker than Dean would have liked. Cas seemed to fight the weight of his own head as he looked up at both of them. “Let him go. I’m your mission, not him.”

“Oh, dear Castiel,” the angel, Kushiel, said as he turned his back on Dean. “I forgot to tell you. I’m not longer accepting missions from Heaven. With Naomi gone, the angels as a whole lack vision. They lack purpose. As such, I have gone… freelance. I believe that’s the term humans prefer.”

There was a knock on the door at the top of the stairs leading from the basement into the house above. A moment later, the door opened. Dean watched with a sinking stomach as Scott walked down the stairs with his fingers laced behind his head. Ricky, the waiter they’d kept running into, followed Scott down the stairs with a gun trained on Scott’s back.

“Ricky?” Dean asked.

“Hello, handsome,” Ricky said without taking his eyes off Scott. “I figured you’d follow lover boy over there.”

“You’re a dead man,” Dean said.

Ricky snorted.

“Master,” Ricky said to Kushiel. “I found this one snooping around outside. I think he came with handsome over there.”

Kushiel looked Scott over with a bored expression that melted into a satisfied smirk.

“No,” Kushiel said. “He may have come with the Winchester, but he has his own reasons for being here. This one is here for Duma.”

With another flick of his fingers, Kushiel sent Scott flying to the ground next to Dean. Scott crumpled like a rag doll at Dean’s side. His eyes were closed and his body still. Dean reached out and gently shook Scott’s shoulder.

“Scott?” Dean asked. The man didn’t answer. Dean moved his fingers to check Scott’s pulse. It was there, but it was weak. So much for Dean’s backup. He looked at Kushiel again. “What’s your big plan, anyway?”

Kushiel turned to Ricky.

“Did you bring the rest of the supplies?” Kushiel asked.

“The puppet has it,” Ricky said, nodding his chin at the stairs.

Kushiel’s eyes narrowed. Then Ricky was lifted by some invisible force—Dean would bet Kushiel’s grace—halfway up one of the support beams. The gun in Ricky’s hand fell away and skittered across the floor farther away from where Dean was crouched. Ricky’s eyes were wide, and his feet kicked helplessly half a foot off the floor.

“Your ego tires me,” Kushiel said.

Dean’s eyebrows raised. Kushiel was actually force-choking Ricky with his grace in front of Dean’s eyes. The morbid science fiction nerd in him wanted to geek out over that. The empathetic human part was growing more alarmed by the second. If this was how Kushiel treated his assistants, how would he treat the rest of them?

Kushiel walked over to an old wooden table to Dean’s left that, from what Dean could tell, was littered with random spell related crap. Kushiel picked up a long blade from the table. It looked like it was made from the same material as a standard angel blade, but this one was longer,  covered in Enochian etchings, and had a worn, leather-wrapped handle with a wider hilt. The thing was somewhere between a dagger and a mini sword. Unlike all the angel blades Dean had handled over the years, this one looked battle-worn.

“Master, please,” Ricky said with a gasping breath.

Kushiel rolled the handle of the engraved blade in his right hand and looked at Ricky with a blank expression.

“Duma, come to me,” Kushiel said. The lights in the room dimmed as Dillon appeared between Ricky and Kushiel. “Good boy, it’s time to begin the spell work.”

Dillon nodded then pulled a jar that looked like it was filled with blood and a smaller container seemingly from thin air.

“Here, Master, the supplies you requested,” Dillon said.

“Very good, Duma,” Kushiel said as he accepted the items and turned to place them on the table. As he turned, Ricky fell to the ground. Ricky took in big, gulping breaths of air and immediately reached up to his neck like he was trying to soothe an ache in the flesh. Dean had a hard time feeling sorry for the man. Kushiel snapped his fingers. “Ricky, come here.”

Ricky pushed himself up, swaying a bit on his feet before he moved to Kushiel’s side.

“Yes, Master?” Ricky asked.

“Have you learned to watch your tone?” Kushiel asked as he moved things around on the table.

Ricky nodded, then winced like the movement irritated his neck.

“Yes, Master,” Ricky said.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Kushiel said. “Now, I need you to begin combining the ingredients listed here. Do not, under any circumstances, screw this up, or I will dispose of you. Are we clear?”

“Crystal clear, Master,” Ricky said.

“That’s my boy,” Kushiel said as he patted Ricky on the shoulder.

A chill ran down Dean’s spine as he watched Ricky squeeze his eyes shut and shudder at the touch. Dean would bet money that Kushiel’s vessel—whoever that sorry son of a bitch was—had actually meant something to Ricky before Kushiel took him over. Maybe Dean did feel a little sorry for Ricky after all.

“Sweetheart,” a woman’s voice called from the top of the stairs. “I know you said you didn’t want me coming by the house tonight, but I found this in my car and thought you’d need it. Ricky left it there the other night after stealing it from your new pet. I kept meaning to give it to you.”

Kushiel’s features melted into a warm smile as he looked at the woman coming down the stairs. She had shoulder-length gray hair and looked like an aging stepford wife. Dean frowned at her as she dug through her purse. Something about her was familiar.

“Carolynn, my darling, what was it you found?” Kushiel asked.

Dean’s eyes widened as she pulled a cassette from the depths of her purse. 

“The cassette tape, you silly goose,” Carolynn said. “I know last time we didn’t have the other one’s notebooks, and it screwed everything up. I wanted to make sure you had the personal item in advance so we could avoid losing control of one of your pets again.”

Kushiel took the tape—the mixtape Dean had given to Cas—with a smile straight out of a Disney movie. 

Dean had spent days working on that tape. It took him months to work up the nerve to actually give the damn thing to Cas in hopes the angel would know what the hell it meant. That tape was the closest thing to a love confession Dean had managed to come up with after eight plus years of hoping Cas would just figure it out. 

And these sons of bitches had stolen the tape. 

“I’d forget my head if it weren’t for you, darling,” Kushiel said. He leaned in and gave Carolynn a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“What are you doing with that?” Cas asked.

“You’ll see,” Kushiel said as he set the cassette down on the table.

Dean saw red. 

Caution be damned. Dean got to his feet and rushed at Kushiel. He’d kill the angel with his bare hands if he had to. 

Kushiel turned to look at Dean with a single raised eyebrow as Dean’s attack came to an abrupt halt just inches from where Kushiel stood. Stupid angels and their stupid grace making fights unfair. 

“What are you doing, Monkey?” Kushiel asked.

“I’m going to kill you,” Dean said.

Kushiel pressed his lips together. His mouth twisted into a smug smile that Dean longed to punch off his face. Kushiel looked down at the bloody spot on his shirt where Dean had tried running him through with an angel blade. With a scoff, Kushiel lifted his gaze to meet Dean’s eyes again.

“Because that worked so well for you last time,” Kushiel said as he lifted one hand. Cas shouted angry words in English and Enochian while Dean stared Kushiel down. Kushiel tilted his head. “Why don’t you sit back down?”

Then Dean was flying through the air and crashing into the basement wall. Again. This time his right shoulder took the brunt of the impact. Once Dean’s vision stopped swimming enough for him to let go of the ground around him, he reached up to grab his shoulder with his left hand. 

“Dean,” Cas called out. It seemed like Cas had been calling his name for a while.

“I’m okay, Cas,” Dean said even though the world still seemed to be moving in unnatural ways and his right arm was screaming at him. “I’m okay.”

“Thank you for bringing the tape by, darling,” Kushiel said. 

“It was no problem,” Carolynn said. 

She turned and looked at Dean with her head cocked to the side. Her mouth grew pinched as she looked from Dean to Scott’s prone form. Now that Dean had a better look at her, he remembered where he’d seen her before. She was the woman in the prayer circle outside the theater that first night. 

“Darling?” Carolynn asked as she stared at Scott. “Are you _sure_ you don’t have some reason to kill my ex-son-in-law? Ashley was making such good progress without him in her life.”

_Holy shit_ , Dean thought.

Kushiel sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’s all I ask,” Carolynn said. “I’m off to meet the girls for bridge now. We’re raising funds for the children’s shelter tonight. Do call me when this is finished and cleaned up, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Kushiel said. He held his arms out. “Come, give me a hug before you go.”

Carolynn’s smile practically glowed on her face as she moved into the hug. Dean had seen some sick puppies over the years, but this bitch was definitely up there near the top. 

Kushiel folded his arms around Carolynn’s shoulders and smoothed a hand over her hair. Even in heels, she stood only as high as his jawline. The hand Kushiel had on Carolynn’s hair moved to cup her chin. His other hand gripped her opposite shoulder. 

One moment Dean was watching them snuggle with red-hot hatred curled in his stomach. The next he was watching Kushiel’s hands twist and pull Carolynn’s chin and shoulders until her neck snapped, and she collapsed onto the cement floor lifeless and still.

Dean’s eyes widened.

“What the fuck?” Dean asked.

“She was exhausting,” Kushiel said in the same way someone might say it was going to rain today. 

“Carolynn,” Ricky cried out. He dropped to his knees next to Carolynn’s body. His hands shook as he reached out to touch her. “No, Carolynn, you can’t be dead.”

“She is,” Kushiel said. “It’s time to get on with the spell work.”

Ricky looked up at Kushiel with loathing in his eyes. 

“She _loved_ you,” Ricky said. “How could you kill her like that?”

“She loved William,” Kushiel said. “Just like you loved him, but he’s gone and I’m enjoying this vessel too much to bring him back to you. Get used to it.”

Ricky’s expression crumpled in anguish. 

“Now get up, we haven’t got all night to finish this spell,” Kushiel said with an impatient wave of his hand. 

“I hate you,” Ricky said. He’d said the words with the kind of weak voice of someone who’d just given up. 

Kushiel nodded and hummed. “I would expect nothing less at this point.”

Ricky looked down at Carolynn again. Dean could see the fresh tracks of tears spilling over the guy’s face. He was torn between wanting to hurt Ricky for manipulating Cas the way he had and wanting to save him from Kushiel. 

Ricky swiped at his tear-stained cheeks and moved to his feet before returning to the table where he’d been working on the spell.

Dean met Cas’s eyes across the basement. Blood from the cut on Cas’s temple was beginning to drip from his chin onto Cas’s dress shirt. Flickering orange light from the ring of holy fire danced over Cas’s features. Dean’s heart lurched.

They needed to get out of here and away from this crazy angel.

“You’re a real piece of work, Kushiel,” Dean said. He moved up to his knees and started looking around the room for weapons. Dillon stood spine-straight and staring against the far wall like he was a computer on standby waiting for instructions before acting. Dean gritted his teeth. There was no way he was letting Cas get turned into that, not again. Scott still hadn’t moved from where he’d collapsed on the ground. That was starting to worry Dean. “What are you getting out of this, anyway?”

Kushiel grinned at him.

“Duma,” Kushiel said as he continued to stare at Dean. He gestured at Carolynn’s lifeless body. “Clean up this mess.”

Dillon crossed the room. He knelt next to Carolynn and touched her back then they both disappeared. A few moments later, Dillon reappeared standing a few feet away from where Carolynn had died. 

“That is what I get out of this,” Kushiel said to Dean. “The power of a fully restored angel in a form that makes it easier for humans to dismiss as a trick of the light or a stress induced illusion when they witness Duma carrying out tasks at my command. Duma, tell the human what I’ve had you do for me.”

“Spread the messages of truth at the movie theater, Master,” Dillon said. He spoke like a soldier repeating back orders to their commanding officer. “Gather riches from the far corners of the Earth. Collect artifacts and weapons lost to time and human greed.” 

“And when you misbehaved?” Kushiel asked.

“I…” Dillon’s expression faltered for a moment before his mask of obedience returned. “I c-came to heel after the humans disrupted the spell that gifted me this miracle of extended life.”

“Very good,” Kushiel said as his gaze on Dean sharpened. “I must say, Mud Monkey, I was quite irritated with you when I realized you’d burned Duma’s vessel. The original spell I’d cast on him required his vessel’s bones to remain intact in order for the connection between myself and Duma to thrive.” 

“How’d you get Dillon back under your control?” Dean asked. “I burned his bones myself. Scott here watched his ghost go up in flames.”

“Did he now? Delightful.” Kushiel’s calm smile melted into a disturbing, gleeful expression. “I’d spent days researching ways to make the spell stronger. I thought Duma was lost to me after you burned his vessel. I wanted to make sure when I put your precious Castiel under the spell that it would stick. Imagine my surprise when I’d stumbled across the secret to making ghosts remain here after their bodies were burned away. A personal object to imbue bits of their soul in.”

Dean clenched his teeth. That explained why Cas’s mixtape and Dillon’s notebooks went missing recently.

“You’re not casting that spell on him,” Dean said. 

“We’ll see,” Kushiel said. “It was a happy coincidence that Duma showed himself at the diner yesterday. Ricky and I were discussing our plan for finding Castiel before Duma appeared. I left as soon as Duma started blowing windows out of the place.” Kushiel gestured at Ricky. “It didn’t matter so much about getting Ricky out of there, reconnaissance is a large part of his job. I was very disappointed that he broke the glasses I had made for him to be able to spot angels and vessel brandings with his human eyes.”

Dean’s eyes widened. He and Sam had used glasses like that for hunting Hellhounds in the past, but he’d never thought to use them to see angels. 

“Regardless of my human assistant’s clumsiness,” Kushiel said. “I was able to bring Duma back into the fold this morning.”

Kushiel paced the room, circling Dillon before moving to stand in front of Cas. 

“Why kill those other vessels?” Dean asked. “What do you need with them anyway?”

“You humans have an expression I’m quite fond of for situations like this,” Kushiel said as he tilted his head at Cas. He turned to look over his shoulder at Dean. “A bit of this, a bit of that. I only need their soul and some of their blood. Well, most of their blood, actually. Once they’re on the verge of dying anyway I smite them. I’ve learned it’s easier to clean up.”

“So you’re using angel vessels and angels like some quack doctor in Human Centipede?” Dean asked. “Why don’t you just talk angels into working with you instead of going through all this shit?”

“Words don’t breed the level of devotion I require from my assistants,” Kushiel said. His words were icy and his features hard.

“The spell is almost ready, Master,” Ricky said. “Would you like me to add the last ingredients now?”

“Yes, I believe we’re…” Kushiel’s words trailed off.

Dean looked over his shoulder at the angel in confusion. Kushiel crossed the room with a speed Dean remembered from Cas’s early days with them on Earth. He grabbed Dean by the left arm and began tearing away Dean’s shirt and turning him to face the wall.

“Woah, hey now, easy,” Dean said. “If you wanted a show, all you had to do was ask, but I gotta tell you, I’m taken and I’m so not interested.”

“Shut up, Mud Monkey,” Kushiel said. 

Kushiel ran his fingers over Dean’s left shoulder blade. Dean grit his teeth to keep himself from pulling away from the angel’s touch. The angelic seal Cas said was obscured on Dean’s shoulder blade must still be visible enough to catch Kushiel’s eye. 

“Bad touch,” Dean said. His cheek was pressed against the rough basement wall. “I’d say I don’t swing that way, but that’s obviously not true. You’re still not my type.”

“Castiel, you sneaky little bird. I knew I recognized this one’s name from somewhere. Dean Winchester,” Kushiel spun Dean around and slammed his back against the cement wall of the basement. Dean raised his chin and met Kushiel’s eyes. “The Righteous Man and Michael’s predestined vessel. Boys, there’s been a change in plans. We no longer need the blood and soul from that other useless vessel. We’ve got ourselves an archangel vessel to use for the spell.”

“No,” Cas shouted. Dean winced as Cas struggled against the ropes that held him to the cross. “Stop this, Kushiel.”

“Oh, yes, Castiel,” Kushiel said as he patted Dean on the cheek. “You’re going to watch the man you fell for die. Then we’re going to use his soul to bind your grace here to Earth where you’ll dance and jump whenever I tell you to. This is perfect.”

“Hate to break it to you, douchebag,” Dean said. “Michael never got up in this. I never said yes to him.”

“I can tell,” Kushiel said. “An unused, untainted vessel is exactly what this spell works best with. If that vessel happens to be strongly tied to the angel being bound?” Kushiel moved his hand to wrap around the skin of Dean’s shoulder where Cas’s handprint burn used to be. “Well, that’s even better.”

Dean swallowed.

“Unhand him,” Cas said.

“Duma,” Kushiel said. “Prepare this vessel for spell work. We need his soul and his blood. Do what you want with the flesh when it’s done. Actually, on second thought, let’s string him up so the last thing Castiel sees before the spell takes hold of him is his dead lover’s body.”

“Yes, Master,” Dillon said.

Dean swung his fist at Kushiel’s face. His tightly wound fist stopped an inch from the angel’s jaw like it hit a wall Dean couldn’t see. Kushiel’s lips quirked into a self-satisfied smile.

“None of that now,” Kushiel said.

With a flick of Kushiel’s fingers, Dean found himself pressed against the basement wall once more. This time he was hanging inches off the ground—like Ricky had against the support beam earlier—with his arms stretched out to mimic Cas’s crucifixion pose. Dean was looking forward to killing this piece of shit slow. Real slow.

Dean tried to yank his fists away from the wall, but they wouldn’t budge. Kushiel’s grace was giving him about as much slack as Cas seemed to have with the rope. Dean looked down at Scott. The soldier hadn’t budged from the spot he’d been thrown. Panic threatened to sour the back of Dean’s throat with bile. He wished Sam was here.

“I need his arm lower, Master,” Ricky said as he approached Dean wearing medical gloves with a needle and an empty blood bag.

Dean’s left arm lowered so his wrist was about even with his hips. Dean clenched his fingers as his elbow twinged from the slightly unnatural angle his arm was twisted at. Commotion on the other side of the basement made him look up at Cas who was violently twisting and heaving his body against the ropes.

“Calm down, Cas,” Dean said. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Dean,” Cas said. Blood was starting to soak through Cas’s shirt sleeves and along his torso around the ropes.

Dean closed his eyes. He needed to come up with a plan to get out of this.

Ricky tore open a little paper packet and pulled out a folded piece of liquid soaked cloth. He wiped the cloth over Dean’s inner arm then tossed it to the side.

“Did you just sanitize my arm?” Dean asked. Ricky ignored Dean as he prepped Dean’s arm and the vein he was going to extract the blood from. “Your boss said he’s going to kill me. Why would you bother making sure I don’t get infected?”

Ricky’s eyes flicked up to meet Dean’s for a brief moment before he looked away. Dean winced as the needle pierced his skin. Ricky hung the blood bag off an old, rusted hook protruding from the wall next to Dean’s knee.

“This will take a while,” Ricky said. Whether he was talking to Dean or Kushiel, Dean couldn’t tell. “We’ll need three to four bags for the spell this time.”

“Fuck you,” Dean said.

Ricky turned away without looking at Dean.

Kushiel nodded at Ricky’s words before turning back to Dillon. The angel and the ghost were talking in low voices. Dean looked at the ceiling and wall above him trying to find something he could reach to use as a weapon or get himself free. Not that he knew how to get free from grace holding him like this, but that wasn’t the point. He had to do something.

“Hey, asshole,” Dean said to Ricky. He was starting to get light headed. “Shouldn’t the vein you’re getting blood out of be above my heart while you do it? I mean, I didn’t go to medical school or nothing, but I’m pretty sure that’s a thing.” Dean swallowed. Ricky’s jaw muscle protruded like he was clenching his teeth as he mixed ingredients into a large silver bowl on the table. “Seriously, I think you want me to stay awake while you collect my blood, right? This shit’s making everything fuzzy. Is it supposed to be fuzzy?”

“Will you shut up?” Kushiel said as he lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers. Dean dropped from where Kushiel’s grace had held him to the wall. Everything except Dean’s left arm, at least. Dean cried out as his shoulder wrenched at a fucked up angle on his way down to the ground. His vision went white now that his left hand was facing upwards from where he’d collapsed on the ground. 

“Is that better?” Kushiel asked. “We wouldn’t want you to be too uncomfortable.”

Another flick of Kushiel’s hand cut off the growl coming from Dean’s lips. Dean frowned and tried to speak. Nothing came out. He looked up at Kushiel with wide eyes.

“Your voice grates on my nerves, Monkey,” Kushiel said. “And I have no further use for it.”

Ricky came over with a new empty blood bag. Dean watched in detached horror as Ricky switched out the full one for the empty one. This was very bad.

“Kushiel, please,” Cas said. “I’ll do whatever you want. Let Dean go.”

Dean shook his head at Cas. Now was not the time for self sacrifice and bargaining with smarmy little winged-terrorists.

“Oh, Castiel,” Kushiel said shaking his head. “You’ll do whatever I want regardless. That’s the whole point of doing this. You will be my slave just like dear, sweet Duma.”

Dean looked over to where Dillon had stood just a few minutes ago. The ghost angel was nowhere to be seen now. It didn’t seem like Kushiel noticed this development.

“Don’t you think one of the reasons your spell keeps failing and you keep losing control of your puppets might have something to do with them not being willing participants?” Cas asked.

Kushiel laughed. “Angels don’t have free will, Castiel. It doesn’t matter whether they consent. We’re built to follow orders and rules.”

“You’re wrong, Kushiel,” Cas said. “I’ve proven time and again that we are capable of free will and making our own choices, brother. I’ve chosen Dean Winchester over everything for years, and I’ve seen the way you look at me. Even in the church you looked at me like a prize you wanted to hang in a trophy room.”

Dean started to shake his head. No, what the fuck was Cas doing?

“I would do anything to protect him and his family,” Cas said.

_You_ are _my family, Cas_ , Dean prayed. _Why won’t you believe that?_

“If you let him go,” Cas said. “And you use the ingredients to the spell you’d already gathered from the other vessel, I promise you, I will be your first willing slave.”

_No_ , Dean screamed inside his head. This couldn’t be happening.

“Ricky,” Kushiel said. “It’s time for the blade.”

“Master?” Ricky asked.

“Do it,” Kushiel said.

Ricky rubbed his hands on his thighs before picking up the engraved blade from the table. His throat bobbed before he turned toward Cas. Dean watched in horror as Ricky stepped over the ring of holy fire and stopped in front of Cas. Ricky looked up at Cas. Dean thought he heard Ricky say something to Cas, but Dean’s ears were filled with white noise as his focus narrowed to the tip of that blade as Ricky wound his arm back then drove the blade into Cas’s side.

Cas screamed in agony. Dean echoed Cas’s cry silently.

Blue-white light poured from Cas’s wounds, eyes, and mouth. The air around them sizzled and cracked as Cas burned out. Ash wings spread over the cross and Christmas lights hanging behind it.

Dean’s throat was raw from trying to scream. His cheeks were soaked with tears as he watched Cas’s lifeless form sag on the cross.

Someone to Dean’s right said something, and the ring of holy fire went out.

Dean’s mind wasn’t able to focus on much more than snippets of everything that happened next. He was only distantly aware of Scott getting up from the floor and rushing to pick up the gun Ricky had dropped earlier. A shot rang out that Dean barely noticed over the white noise in his ears. Kushiel snarled and turned toward Scott as Ricky collapsed on the ground at Cas’s feet. The door next to the stairs that Dean had come through earlier swung open. Sam and Mary came into the room with guns drawn.

Kushiel was standing in the middle of the room laughing with Scott and Sam’s guns trained on him.

Mary crouched next to Dean and was doing something with his arm. A distant part of him knew whatever it was should hurt or sting, but everything was numb.

Cas was…

Dean looked beyond Kushiel’s laughing form. The cross was empty. Dean blinked. Madness set in a lot faster than he thought it would.

Then Kushiel’s laughter turned to an anguished cry as the tip of the engraved blade poked through his chest. Dean tilted his head as grace burned its way out of Kushiel’s vessel. Kushiel’s body dropped to the ground.

Dean blinked.

Cas stood there with his hand pressed to the bleeding wound on his side.

People were talking to him, but Dean’s focus was entirely on Cas as the angel shuffled forward and dropped to his knees in front of Dean. Cas reached out to cup Dean’s cheek with the hand he didn’t have pressed against his abdomen.

“Dean,” Cas said.

Fresh tears made Dean’s vision cloudy.

“Cas?” Dean asked. His voice had returned. “But you… I saw you die.”

Cas shook his head.

Dean decided he didn’t care for an explanation right then. He reached out with his right hand and pulled Cas into a deep kiss. He poured every bit of terror and love he’d felt in the last few hours into that kiss. Cas’s fingers worked their way into Dean’s hair, and he shifted so he was leaning against Dean’s chest.

“Fuck, I thought I’d lost you,” Dean said when he came up for air.

“You’ll never lose me, Dean,” Cas said. “Not if I can help it.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, you bastard,” Dean said. He stole another kiss and wrapped his right arm around Cas’s shoulders. The longer they kissed, the more Cas’s lips began to grow lax. Dean pulled away. “Cas?”

Cas’s eyes fluttered like he was trying to stay awake.

“I love you,” Cas said before his eyes fell closed.

“Cas,” Dean said. He shook the angel in his arms. “Wake up, Cas. Cas!”


	28. Hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember my "there's no major character death in this fic" tag? Yeah, this chapter is the fix-it for the end of that last scene. I'm so sorry. The season finale made me change some of my plans around for the better with this story.

“Looks like your husband is well out of the woods now, Mr. Jones,” the nurse said. “He should be waking up again soon.”

Dean gave her a weak smile and a nod as she finished adjusting things on and around Cas’s hospital bed. She left the room after patting Dean on his uninjured shoulder.

Three days had passed since the basement where they’d both nearly died. Dean had spent the time since then getting blood transfusions and having his left arm put in a sling. He’d never get used to the pain of having one of his shoulders pushed back into the socket. So far he’d managed to miss Cas being awake each time he’d come to. They were living that cliche of ships passing in the night lately.

Bruising colored Cas’s cheek and the cut on his temple was bandaged. He looked thin and weak.

Dean swallowed and looked down at Cas’s hand in his right hand. He should say something. Tell Cas that he was here and waiting for him. At least let him know that Cas had successfully killed Kushiel. That Ricky had died in the fight and Carolynn’s body was never recovered. 

He didn’t know how to explain to Cas that Dillon was nowhere to be found after everything had gone down. Thinking of Dillon reminded him that he should probably send Scott and Ashley his condolences or do something to help make up for them having to grieve all over again.

Words failed him.

“How are you holding up?” Sam asked from somewhere behind Dean.

Dean shrugged in response.

“The nurse stopped me outside,” Sam said. “She says they think he’ll wake up soon. Maybe you won’t miss him this time.”

Dean traced his thumb over Cas’s knuckles. There were bandages wrapped around Cas’s wrists from where the rope Ricky had used to tie Cas to the cross had abraded Cas’s skin. The nurses said the stab wound on Cas’s abdomen was healing exceptionally well for how worried they were about it when he was admitted.

Sam settled into the chair on Dean’s left. He held a paper cup in Dean’s direction. “Coffee?”

Dean shook his head. He didn’t have to turn to look at Sam to know Sam was rolling his eyes at Dean. The pain pills the hospital had given Dean for his shoulder were making him feel jittery anyway. Adding caffeine to it wouldn’t help him sit here by Cas’s bedside waiting.

Sam set the cup down on the rolling tray table behind them.

“Mom’s with Scott’s FBI friends right now,” Sam said. “She’ll swing by the hospital later. They wanted someone who knew what the hell happened to help them come up with a paperwork friendly story to tell their superiors.”

Cas’s hands felt weaker than normal in Dean’s today. Dean didn’t like that feeling.

“She told me to tell you she’s sorry for the hospital getting mixed up about you and Cas,” Sam said. “The whole assuming you’re married thing. When the EMTs arrived at the scene you wouldn’t let him go, and you started to get violent when they were trying to separate you two. Mom called Cas her son-in-law after I was able to get you to calm down enough for them to work on Cas’s stab wound. They just kinda ran with it after that.”

When had Cas’s hands started to develop callouses? Dean frowned down at Cas’s hand.

Sam cleared his throat.

“Oh, the nurse in the ER found this in your jacket pocket,” Sam said. “She said normally they’d put it in with the rest of your personal items, but it looked special and rare so she was worried it would go missing.”

The thrumming in Dean’s body he’d come to associate with Cas using his grace kicked up again. Movement at the edge of Dean’s vision had him turning his head to look at what Sam was holding out to him. It was a necklace. A long silver chain with an engraved silver tube hanging from it.

“Cas,” Dean said.

Sam looked at the bed and back at Dean.

“Yeah, Cas is right there, Dean,” Sam said.

Dean shook his head and opened the hand caught up in the sling. He gave his brother a desperate look. After a moment, Sam let the necklace spill down to collect in Dean’s open hand. Dean curled his fingers around the cool metal and squeezed it as tight as his injured arm would let him. The humming in his bones from Cas’s grace was coming from the necklace.

Dean closed his eyes and ground his teeth.

“You stupid son of a bitch,” Dean said as he opened his eyes and glared at Cas on the bed. “When you get better I’m going to kick your ass. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to rip out your grace before using yourself as bait?”

“Wait, what?” Sam asked. “Is that why he’s healing so slowly? I thought it had to do with Kushiel’s blade.”

Dean didn’t know the answer to that. What he did know left him feeling pissed off.

“Cas’s grace is in this fucking necklace,” Dean said. He was so angry he could barely see straight. To be honest, trying to do _anything_ straight would usually make him chuckle to himself, the fact that he wasn’t even cracking a smile at the pun opportunity backed up how mad he was. “Before the diner, we talked about the case, and I agreed to work with his crazy idea of using himself as bait against whoever the hell we were up against. He didn’t tell me he was going to take out his grace. He nearly died last time. What the fuck was he thinking?”

“It was our only chance,” Cas said. His voice was scratchy from disuse.

“Our only…” Dean took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. “You almost died.”

“So did you,” Cas said. “If I hadn’t extracted my grace before Ricky jumped me then I definitely would have died after being stabbed by Kushiel’s blade.”

“Seriously?” Sam asked. Dean turned to look at his brother. “You haven’t seen each other awake in days. You’ve both been miserable, moody jackasses about it, and now that you’re both awake at the same time the first thing you’re going to do is yell at each other?”

“What the hell do you expect me to say?” Dean asked. “Hey, Cas, I’m glad you didn’t die after doing something dumb again?”

“You could thank me for using my, how did you put it? ‘Angelic military tactician’ skills to keep more people from dying,” Cas said. “It would be polite.”

“You guys are so messed up,” Sam said.

Dean pursed his lips at his brother then looked back at Cas.

“You want me to _thank you_?” Dean asked. “All right, fine, thank you for not getting yourself killed. Again.”

“Well, you told me not to,” Cas said. He let out a long breath and winced.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked. Cas prodded at the wound on his abdomen for a moment. “Did you pull a stitch? Do we need to get a nurse in here? Sam, where’s the call button?”

“No need,” Cas’s nurse said from the doorway. “I heard voices coming from this way and thought I’d check in with you, anyway.”

She made her way to the other side of Cas’s bed. After a few minutes of talking with Cas about what hurt and where while looking at the dressing for Cas’s stab wound, they decided it was nothing, just soreness.

Dean hung his head. He couldn’t believe he’d nearly gotten Cas killed again. Maybe there was a way he could get Cas alone and have him drink the grace from the necklace again. At least the grace could keep him safe and heal him faster.

“My grandparents used to do that,” the nurse said.

“Do what?” Dean asked.

“Yell at each other while holding hands,” she said. Dean looked down at his fingers curled around Cas’s hand. This time Cas was holding him just as tightly. “How long have you two been married?”

“Almost nine years,” Sam said immediately.

Cas’s brow furrowed, and he looked at Dean.

“It feels like it sometimes, doesn’t it, Cas?” Dean said. Cas opened his mouth as his eyes narrowed, and his frown grew more pronounced. Dean didn’t even know what the hell he was saying anymore. The words wouldn’t stop. “It’s pretty new, actually. See, no rings. Okay, ow, that arm doesn’t want to move right now, but you get the idea. It’s… We’re…”

“We’re engaged,” Cas said. He squeezed Dean’s hand. Dean’s teeth clicked as he closed his mouth. “We’ve known each other for nearly nine years. Since we met we’ve had a profound bond.”

Sam snorted.

“Aw, good for you guys,” the nurse said. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone else you’re not official yet. It shouldn’t matter, but we have a night nurse who would make your life hell if he knew there was a legal loophole that let him get away with being a jackass to you.”

She said her goodbyes and left the room.

Dean stared at the woven pattern on Cas’s hospital blanket. Cas was still holding his hand tight.

“Do you have any news about Dillon?” Cas asked Sam.

“No,” Sam said. “No one’s seen him since that night, and I wasn’t successful when I tried summoning him.”

“I think he saved me,” Cas said. “I think he stepped between me and Ricky.”

“That would explain the ash wings on the wall,” Sam said. “Assuming ghosts of angels can still leave behind ash wings.”

“He disappeared when you were in the middle of egging Kushiel on,” Dean said. “Right before Kushiel had Ricky stab you.”

“So there’s a chance he might have made it out of there?” Cas asked. “Maybe something or someone else saved me.”

“Maybe,” Sam said.

Cas made a sound in the back of his throat and looked away.

“I’m gonna go check in with mom,” Sam said. “Will you two _please_ talk to each other with real words while I’m gone?”

Dean watched his brother leave the room and pull the door closed behind him.

“I’d hoped Dillon and I could have…” Cas shook his head. “I don’t know what I hoped.”

“He was the first one of your siblings we’ve met in years who didn’t seem like a flaming douchebag,” Dean said. “And he seemed like he would know what it’s like to go through some of the things you have. It makes sense you’d want to reconnect with him.”

Cas grunted.

“Dean,” Cas said. “What was that about earlier? Why did the nurse think we were married?”

“It was the excuse Mom gave the EMTs when I wouldn’t let you go after you nearly fucking died in my arms,” Dean said. “You scared the hell out of me, man.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas said. “I was trying not to die.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“What’s this all about?” Dean asked as he opened his hand to reveal the necklace with Cas’s grace.

“That was me trying not to die,” Cas said. “I knew you’d protect my grace. When I heard Eileen’s theories about the spell used on Dillon, I assumed that Kushiel’s group of angels was involved. Stories of what they did to the rest of us have haunted me for a long time. I didn’t want to risk going against one of them fully powered as I’d be more susceptible to whatever they used against me.”

Dean moved to sit up on the edge of Cas’s bed. He gathered their joined hands in his lap and took in a shaky breath.

“Tell me when plans change like that next time,” Dean said. “I can’t… I don’t want to go into a fight blind like that again. I can’t risk losing you because I don’t know what’s happening. I could have used a banishing sigil on him or something if I’d known you were basically human. I didn’t want to risk it with you injured like that.”

Before Cas could respond, Dean leaned forward and stole a kiss. It was long and sweet and made Dean’s chest ache from emotion. He rested his nose on Cas’s cheek and breathed in deeply.

“I promise,” Cas said in a soft voice.

“Thank you,” Dean said.


	29. Old Friends

Dillon Bonner watched the two humans he loved carry boxes from their former home into their cars. This was it. The ending he’d known would come on some buried down instinctive level from the first time he’d spotted Scott’s soul sparkling in the desert sun on the battlefield. This was where Dillon and his humans would part ways for good.

If he still had a body or a heart, it would be shattered at his feet.

Whatever had happened in that basement had changed him again. He was no longer an angel but not a ghost either. As far as he could tell, he was nothing more than a conscious shadow beneath a tree across the street from the house he’d once privately thought of as home.

“Wow, this is depressing,” a man said.

Dillon turned—not his physical body because he didn’t have one anymore, but he was at least able to turn his consciousness—to look at the man. The man’s brown hair was unruly, his beard long and fluffy like the beard Scott used to wear overseas.

“Father?” Dillon asked.

God grinned. “Hi, Duma, it’s been a while.”

Dillon stared. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Not there,” God said with a quick laugh. “I was here on Earth. Lost my memories for a while. Tried the normal life thing. Ended up as a writer spending my days in pajamas and mainlining coffee. Love that stuff. It always impresses me what humans make of all the things I hid in my little experiment here. And quit calling me God in your head, it’s Chuck now.”

“Right, Chuck, of course,” Dillon said. “How silly of me.”

Chuck shook his head, and his smile turned wistful.

“You and Castiel took really well to this whole humanity thing,” Chuck said. “Sarcasm and all.”

Dillon looked back at Scott and Ashley. They were carrying the bedside table from Dillon’s old room out to the moving truck.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the attention,” Dillon said to Chuck without taking his focus off the two humans. “But why are you here now?”

“Why did you step between Castiel and Kushiel?” Chuck asked. “You let yourself get stabbed with Kushiel’s blade. You know what one of my enforcer’s blades would do to you as an angel.”

Dillon wished he still had a body so he could fidget while he stalled on answering the question. Instead, he watched the humans. His humans. They were the only reason he was still here and once they were gone… he didn’t really care what happened to him after that, so long as they were safe.

“I see,” Chuck said.

“What?” Dillon asked looking at Chuck again.

“You did it for love,” Chuck said. “That’s admirable. Foolish, but I can understand why you’d do it.”

“I’m not in love with Castiel,” Dillon said. “He’s my brother and—.”

Chuck laughed. 

“No, you doofus,” Chuck said. “Of course you’re not in love with him, you’re in love with them.” He pointed across the street at Scott and Ashley. “You’re in love with _both_ of them, and you knew what Kushiel was planning to do with Castiel. You knew what could happen if he got two of you under his control like that. What it would do to Scott and Ashley. What it would do to the Winchesters. You sacrificed yourself in hopes it would buy the humans enough time to take down Kushiel. It was reckless and stupid and brilliant, honestly.”

“Someone had to stop him,” Dillon said.

Chuck sighed. His shoulders dropped, and his chin lifted like a child who was about to throw a tantrum.

“Why will no one ever believe me when I tell them there is actually very little that needs to happen?” Chuck asked.

“Blame your fan club,” Dillon said automatically.

Scott and Ashley stood with their arms wrapped around each other in front of the flowerbed Ashley had worked so hard on. Their body language was melancholy. Dillon could tell they were mourning him all over again, but at least they had each other this time.

This was the way things were supposed to be. The better way.

“What’s your plan now?” Chuck asked.

“Plan?” Dillon asked.

“Yeah,” Chuck said. “It seemed like you were plotting to sacrifice yourself for the greater good for a while there. I figured you had a big, elaborate plan for what came next.”

“How did you even find me?” Dillon asked.

Chuck stared at him. His droll expression reminded Dillon of Gabriel, and Dillon found himself missing his archangel brother.

“Sam Winchester called me,” Chuck said. He shook his head and looked away. “He’s the only one of those three who doesn’t hate me on some level. I kind of… owed them a favor, and he asked me to check up on what happened to you.”

“A Winchester called in a favor from God for _me_?” Dillon asked.

“It wasn’t the only reason he called,” Chuck said. “He asked if I could fix Castiel again, too. Apparently he and Dean finally realized the gift I’d given them both. Only took them damn near a decade, but hey, who’s counting?”

Dillon didn’t remember his father being so… strange. Maybe Dillon and Castiel weren’t the only ones who were changed so dramatically by their time among the humans.

“So, what, now that you’ve checked up on me you can report back to that Winchester guy and let him know that I’m…” Dillon wished he had arms to flail in frustration. He didn’t know what he was anymore.

“What do you want, Duma?” Chuck asked.

“Quit calling me that,” Dillon said.

Chuck’s smile widened.

“What do you want to happen next, Dillon?” Chuck asked.

Dillon stared across the street. Scott and Ashley were kneeling by the walkway where the three of them had scrawled their initials into the patch of concrete.

Before Dillon could work himself up to giving an answer, he found himself standing in the living room of the house he’d called home. He looked down. He was actually standing there body and all. His heart raced faster as he ran his hands over his chest. He had a heartbeat.

Dillon looked up at Chuck who smiled at him beatifically.

“Dillon?” Ashley asked from the doorway leading into the living room.

“Hi, Ley,” Dillon said. “I dig the pink hair.”

Scott stood next to Ashley. His eyes were wide and glassy, and his lips were parted.

Ashley ran across the room and threw her arms around Dillon’s neck and hugged him tight. Dillon wrapped his arms around her lower back automatically. She smelled like sweat and the remnants of her perfume. He could actually smell the song her perfume sang now instead of the chemical compounds that made it up. His eyes started to burn.

Dillon was human now.

“D?” Scott asked as he came to stand next to them.

Dillon turned his head to look at the human who’d changed everything for him. He reached out to Scott and pulled him into their group hug. Ashley’s faded pink hair was pressed against Dillon’s cheek and his forehead was pressed against Scott’s temple and it was the best place he’d ever been in the many, many millennia he’d existed.


	30. Bunker 2.0 -- NSFW

Dean woke with a gasp. He reached out blindly for the other side of the bed and found the mattress empty, the sheets cold. His heart raced. The sound of himself screaming Cas’s name had followed him out of his nightmare. He rolled toward his bedside table and turned on the lamp. Warm golden light washed over his bedroom.

That was a hell of a dream.

He swapped the pillows on the bed before collapsing on the one that wasn’t sweat-soaked and stared up at the ceiling.

As his breathing slowed, he reached up to tangle his fingers in the silver chain hanging around his neck. His thumbnail traced over the Enochian engravings on the little silver tube. Cas’s grace hummed back at him.

The bedroom door opened, and Cas came in drinking a cup of coffee. He closed the door behind him.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said as he made his way to his side of their bed.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said. He rolled over to take in what Cas was wearing. The former angel had refused to wear what he called the ‘Winchester uniform’ of plaid, jeans, and other clothing found at military surplus stores. Dean’s first response was to be offended and snarky, but in the end it was kind of fun to see Cas experiment with different styles. Today it was jeans and a fitted button-up shirt. Yesterday it was tighter jeans and a novelty t-shirt. The only outfit Dean had vetoed immediately was one that made Cas look like he was signing up for a frat in college. “Where’s my coffee?”

“In the coffee pot in the kitchen, I imagine,” Cas said. He’d settled onto the bed next to Dean and was reading from a paperback book he’d found buried deep in Dean’s personal stash of books he’d collected over the years.

Dean frowned at him.

Light reflected off the silver ring on Cas’s finger. Dean tapped the metal with his index finger.

“I thought you were supposed to be nice to me now,” Dean said.

Cas stared at the wall opposite their bed for a moment, then he shook his head. “I do not recall ‘being nice to you’ in our vows.”

Cas’s lips quirked with the shadow of a smile as he went back to reading his book. That smile was an expression Dean had assumed would have gone away with Cas’s wings when he’d insisted on remaining human. Dean’s frown softened. He loved that stupid smile. Just like he loved the sarcastic asshole in bed with him.

“I love you,” Dean said.

Cas snorted into his coffee cup. He looked at Dean with a fond expression. “I love you, too, Dean.”

Dean waited for Cas to finish his coffee, then he looked over Cas’s arm to see where he was in the book he was reading. The end of a chapter, that would work.

“Let me know when you’ve finished that page,” Dean said.

Cas hummed in response.

Dean scooted across the bed and started undoing the buttons at the bottom of Cas’s shirt. He pressed his lips against the exposed skin and trailed the tips of his nails over the sides of Cas’s waist. Cas sucked in air through his teeth as Dean traced Cas’s waistband with his tongue.

The book landed on Cas’s nightstand with a thump before Cas’s fingers curled tight into Dean’s hair.

“I was reading,” Cas said.

Dean lifted his head and rested his chin on the lower edge of Cas’s stomach. “You want me to stop?”

Cas had assured him time and again that he enjoyed what they did when it came to sex, but Dean always checked with him anyway. Dean had his own consent violated too many times—with and without regards to sex—for him to put Cas in that position.

Cas raised an eyebrow and slowly shook his head. “No, I’m merely giving you a warning that you’ll have to work extra hard to satisfy me because you interrupted me.”

A shiver ran down Dean’s spine. The anxiety Dean had when they’d first gotten together about Cas not understanding or being interested in taking control when in bed with Dean was entirely unfounded. The impatience, cool expressions, and lightning-quick reflexes Cas brought into battles translated into their bedroom well enough that Dean was always impressed with himself when he didn’t spend most of his days hard and begging.

“Okay,” Dean said. He crawled up the bed until he was stretched out over Cas. Their lips met in a deep kiss. Dean’s lips tingled when Cas hummed into their kiss. Dean undid the top few buttons on Cas’s shirt and pressed open-mouthed kisses along Cas’s collarbone and neck as he dug his fingers into Cas’s hip bones.

They kissed lazily as their hands wandered and their clothes fell to the floor around the bed they shared.

Dean had Cas’s cock buried deep in his mouth and was tracing over Cas’s hole with lubed fingers when Cas said something that had Dean sputtering and pulling away so he could breathe.

“You wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.

“I would like you to do the penetrating this morning,” Cas said in a calm voice like Dean hadn’t just deep throated him. Dean blinked at him slowly. “You derive a great deal of pleasure from being penetrated when we have sex. I’d like to see if I would enjoy it too.”

Dirty talk was not Cas’s strong suit, something Dean wasn’t really surprised by. It was endearing when balanced with how much Cas seemed to enjoy wringing out as much pleasure from Dean as he could whenever they were in bed together. Dean put a little more pressure on Cas’s hole and watched as his husband’s eyes slipped closed and his lips parted.

“Are you sure?” Dean asked. They’d recently started experimenting with putting Dean’s fingers in Cas’s ass, but that was as far as they’d gone.

Cas growled. “One day you will have to trust my judgement when it comes to sex, Dean.”

“You’re right,” Dean said with a nod. “But if it doesn’t feel right or it hurts too much or I do something you don’t like, you tell me to stop. I don’t care what else is going on. Just say something.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Cas said as he grabbed Dean by the hair and used it to pull Dean up until they were face to face. “The concern, in this instance, is unnecessary. I want you to fuck me, Dean Winchester.”

Dean closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Okay, maybe Cas had the dirty talk thing down too. Dean started nodding the best he could with Cas holding his hair as tight as he was.

“Yeah, okay, I can do that,” Dean said. Truth be told, as long as he’d fantasized about Cas fucking him over the years, he’d spent almost as much time fantasizing about the reverse. This was a long time coming.

They met eyes as Dean began stretching Cas open. His fingertips teased, rubbed, and caressed against Cas’s sensitive skin. His fingers scissored and pressed deep within Cas until the former angel was writhing on their sheets and cursing Dean’s name between gasping breaths.

With his unoccupied hand, Dean lubed up his erection. Cas whined when Dean removed his fingers from Cas’s ass and groaned deep and long as Dean pushed his cock in.

Dean barely resisted the urge to let his eyes fall closed again in favor of studying Cas’s face looking for signs of discomfort or something going wrong. All he saw in Cas’s expression was, first, a wince, then confusion that soon morphed into slack-jawed fascination and pleasure.

Cas was tight and unbelievably warm around Dean’s cock. Cas shifted his legs so his knees were pressed against Dean’s ribs.

“How are you doing, Cas?” Dean asked. He had a pretty good idea of that answer, but he needed to be sure.

“More,” Cas said. He hooked one of his legs around Dean’s back and tugged Dean forward until Dean was buried all the way inside him. His hands scrambled over Dean’s arms and shoulders like he was looking for a handhold as he tried rolling his hips. “Give me more.”

“Slow down,” Dean said through his teeth. This was the first time he was inside someone without a condom. The fact that this first time was one he was sharing with Cas made the pleasure even more pronounced than it probably would have been otherwise. Unless they wanted all of this to be over before either of them really got to have fun with it, Dean needed Cas to calm down before Dean blew his load early. “You’re a big, bad human now. You don’t have angelic healing anymore.”

Cas growled. “I’m not fragile, Dean.”

“I know you’re not,” Dean said. Even though, if he weren’t buried balls deep in his husband he’d probably argue otherwise when it came to mortal injuries as a human. “Just, hold still a minute so I don’t end up coming in you before we get started.”

Cas tilted his head as he stared up at Dean. His eyes narrowed and that stupid smile that Dean loved to hate ghosted over Cas’s lips. Then Cas tightened around Dean’s cock making Dean’s eyes fall shut and a moan slip from his lips.

“I see,” Cas said. He tapped Dean on the shoulder. “Sit up. On your knees, sit on your heels for me.”

Dean pulled out and rolled his eyes. “Bossy.”

Cas’s smile deepened as Dean settled into the position Cas told him to move to. Cas threw one arm around the back of Dean’s neck and reached down to position Dean’s cock where he wanted it. Dean swallowed as his cock caught on Cas’s rim.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way, Dean,” Cas said as he sank down on Dean’s cock.  Dean pressed his forehead against Cas’s collarbone. The change in angle was even better than before. “Where’s the lube?”

Dean blindly searched the bedsheets to his right until he found the slightly tacky bottle and handed it to Cas. The lid to the bottle popped and Dean watched Cas dribble the thick, clear liquid all over his own cock before tossing the bottle somewhere behind him. Then Cas was wrapping a hand around himself and slowly beginning to stroke.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean said as he watched his husband touch himself. Dean’s fingers dug into Cas’s back. His nails curling into the muscles there.

“That is the idea,” Cas said. He rolled his hips once and they both groaned. “I do not believe I will last very long either, Dean.”

Dean nodded.

“How do you want me?” Dean asked.

Cas rolled his hips again as he continued to stroke himself. “Just… move.”

Dean wrapped one arm around Cas’s lower back and braced his other hand on the mattress behind Cas. He lifted up on his knees enough so that he could move then he thrust into Cas once, quick and deep. Cas cursed loudly. His fingernails dug into Dean’s shoulders and his hand sped up.

“Again, Dean, please,” Cas said.

Dean tilted his head so his nose was nudging against the underside of Cas’s jaw. “You want me to fuck you, Sunshine?”

“Yes,” Cas said with an irritated growl. “Why must you make me tell you mult—.”

Dean thrust into Cas three times in quick succession as Cas spoke until Cas’s words cut off. Cas moaned as he rolled his hips to meet Dean’s.

Dean pressed a gentle kiss to Cas’s jawbone.

“All you had to do was ask,” Dean said before pulling almost all the way out of Cas and slamming himself back in.

Being the reason Cas was coming apart at the seams in his lap was something Dean had fantasized about for years. So many late, lonely nights he’d soothed—or tortured, depending on his mental state—himself to sleep with thoughts of the way Cas would look when he came and the sounds he’d make. Years of fantasies didn’t hold a candle to the real thing. There was no way he could have predicted the way Cas’s blue eyes would catch in the warm lamp light as his head tipped back. Or the way his chest turned red and sweat spilled down his skin as he got closer to the edge.

Nothing prepared Dean for how fucking incredible it was to feel Cas’s ass clench and relax around his cock as Cas’s orgasm creeped ever closer.

Cas let go of Dean’s shoulders and reached up to grab hold of Dean’s hair. The bite of pain forced Dean to conjure up unsexy thoughts to keep himself from coming before Cas did. Cas chuckled as he moved to press his cheek against Dean’s. He took a breath like he was planning to say something to Dean, but Dean interrupted Cas’s train of thought by pressing a finger to Cas’s rim as it stretched around his cock.

Cas cried out instead of forming coherent words. Then his thighs clamped down against Dean’s waist tight enough that Dean had to fight to catch his breath as Cas’s cum spilled on their sweat-soaked stomachs.

The pulsing cum and spasming muscles from Cas’s orgasm proved too much for Dean’s self-control. With a handful more stuttered strokes, Dean moaned as his orgasm rolled through him, and he filled his husband with every drop of cum he could wring out of himself.

They collapsed into a tangle of sweat-slick limbs. Gentle hands sought comfort in each other’s skin. They exchanged slow, lazy kisses and murmured words of love and affection.

Dean’s eyelids drooped heavy as his body practically melted into their bed.

Cas gave Dean a few soft kissed from temple to jaw before climbing out of the bed. As Dean watched Cas clean up in the bedroom they shared, he thought back to everything they’d been through together. All the pain and the wins and betrayals and lies. All the moments Dean had come so close to sweeping the angel into his arms and kissing the hell out of him.

It had taken him nearly nine years to pull his head out of his ass and actually do something about his feelings for Cas. Now that he’d finally done it, he felt lighter, happier. 

There was a picture on the desk in their bedroom now. One Sam had snapped at their wedding. Cas was laughing at something while Dean stared at him, a soft smile playing on his lips. It may have taken forever, but Dean was happy he could finally share with the world that Cas was the love of his damn life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about their actual wedding or how that went. I wanted to leave it up to the reader here. The rings made of silver just made sense to me for the hunter!husbands though so I had to include them.


	31. Epilogue -- Hunter!Cas

Castiel took a sip from his piping-hot mug of coffee. His eyelids slipped closed as he basked in the flavor. He didn’t know why he found coffee so comforting.

Dean was still asleep in their room. Castiel had moved into Dean’s old room when they returned from Arizona at Dean’s insistence. Other than a few times when they annoyed each other to the point where they were tempted to strangle one another, things had gone smoothly between them since then.

Once the wounds they’d endured after encountering Kushiel had healed, Dean had followed through on his promise to properly train Castiel to hunt. Castiel already had some of the basics down from years of observing the brothers and trying to mimic their techniques. His skills with it had improved greatly since Dean had started training him.

Sam and Eileen had started spending more time with one another during that time as well. At first, once Castiel and Dean were healed enough to have sex again, Sam had used the excuse of wanting to give them space and get away from their noises to explain his trips to see Eileen. It wasn’t long until Sam gave up on the excuses and told them about how he and Eileen were looking for a house together. They were talking about setting up a hunting school and resource network. It was sweet and seemed to make them both very happy.

Castiel and Dean were also very happy. They’d returned from their last hunt early this morning. Dean had driven fifteen straight hours, in spite of Castiel’s protests and offers to drive for a while, and practically collapsed when they’d reached the bunker.

Usually, Castiel hated mornings, but the ones that followed a hunt always left him with excess energy to burn and excitement over the next mission. While Dean slept in, Castiel took it upon himself to look for their next case. With a press of a button, his laptop whirred to life. His laptop. Castiel still wasn’t used to having things to call his own. He supposed that novelty would wear off eventually, but for now it gave him a thrill whenever he took note of his own possessions.

He felt the phantom twitch of his wings--now gone as he was permanently human--fluttering in happiness. The phantom limb syndrome had disturbed and torment him when he was human for the first time after the fall. Now it was a comforting reminder of all he’d gained by giving them up.

There was a new email from Dillon, who had also returned fully human. He’d sent Castiel pictures from a trip to Puerto Rico he had gone on with Scott and Ashley. They’d gone down there for a vow renewal slash trio marriage ceremony. Their relationship was unconventional, but they seemed overjoyed to be together at last.

Castiel smiled at a picture of the three of them on a beach during the informal wedding ceremony. They were all grinning and teary-eyed.

Ashley and Scott had remained legally married. They’d initially offered to go through with the divorce they’d talked about while Dillon was dead so the three of them would be on equal footing. The ceremony, though not legal, was their way of making their feelings for Dillon clear.

Since Chuck had restored Dillon as a human, Castiel and Dillon had grown close. Much closer than they’d been in Heaven as fledglings. Castiel was thankful that he had a brother who could empathize with his choice to fall for love. And someone he could vent to when Dean or life as a human got too grating.

It was during these venting phone calls that Castiel learned more about the background of everything that had happened in Arizona. The vessel Kushiel had used, the pastor named William, really was Ashley’s stepfather. Carolynn had gotten remarried when Ashley was an adult. It happened during a time in Ashley’s life when her relationship with her mother was strained and in danger of breaking entirely. William had, before Kushiel took over, been a good influence on Carolynn. He’d brought out the caring woman Ashley remembered from when she was a young girl before her father had died and left them broke.

It was only after Kushiel’s possession was revealed that Ashley realized her mother’s relapse into cruelty was caused by the angel. According to Dillon, she felt guilty that she hadn’t paid closer attention to her mother’s actions and done something to help her. Ashley spent a lot of her time avoiding conversations about her mother and stepfather now. The only person she would occasionally talk about was Ricky.

The waiter had died in that basement from Scott’s gunshot.

Castiel’s feelings about the man were largely conflicting. On the one hand, Ricky had hurt Castiel, Dean, and many others while helping Kushiel and Carolynn. On the other, Ricky had also apologized with tears in his eyes before he’d stabbed Castiel with Kushiel’s blade.

Learning that Ricky was a troubled teen William had taken in under his wing added to those conflicting feelings. Dillon had told Castiel that Ricky was, technically, Ashley’s stepbrother. They were more like friends than siblings, though.

William had helped Ricky get a handle on the addictions that had plagued him as a teen and assisted Ricky in paying for nursing school. He was only a semester away from being able to quit his job as a waiter and start working at a hospital when Kushiel had taken possession of William and changed Ricky’s life.

They would never know what really happened to get Ricky and Carolynn to go so far to help Kushiel as he killed people and trapped angels, but Castiel hoped they’d both found their peace now.

Castiel typed up a quick reply to Dillon’s email and promised to call soon.

Several mugs of coffee later, Dean came shuffling into the library. Castiel looked up from his research to watch his husband. A thrill ran through him at the title. Husband.

“Beyonce again?” Dean asked as he settled into a chair across from Castiel. “I thought you were working your way through the Baroque period of classical music or some shit?”

Castiel frowned for a moment before remembering his pet project of listening to as many different types of music as he could get his hands on. He was hopping around from genre to genre on the music streaming service Sam had set up for him. So far, he kept ending up drifting back to modern, motivational pop music more than anything else. Much to Dean’s chagrin.

“I like Beyonce,” Cas said. He paused the music coming from his laptop speakers anyway. “The classical music was too boring and made my thoughts too loud when I’m trying to research. Oh, that reminds me, Dillon emailed pictures of their wedding ceremony. The beach they were on is beautiful. I remember visiting it a few hundred years ago. The shoreline is a little different, but it’s still breathtaking. How do you feel about boats? Maybe we can drive down to a dock and sail over there one day so you don’t have to fly.”

“Cas?” Dean asked.

“Yes, Dean?”

“How many of these have you had already this morning?” Dean asked as he held up Castiel’s empty coffee mug.

“Um,” Castiel said. “Three. Maybe four.”

“You only left our room an hour and a half ago,” Dean said.

Castiel blinked at him then glanced at the clock on his laptop. Had it only been that long?

“Okay,” Dean said as he stood up, taking the mug with him. He used it to gesture at Cas while he spoke. “No more coffee for you today. Did you even eat anything before drinking all that? You know what, nevermind. I’m going to make some breakfast and you are going to drink water until your brain has stopped traveling at the speed of light.”

“That’s physically impossible,” Castiel said. “The human brain cann--”

“Cas,” Dean said as he fished a bottle of water out of the mini fridge next to one of the many bookcases in the library. He set the bottle down in front of Cas with a thud. “Drink.”

“Yes, dear,” Castiel said as he opened the bottle and took a sip.

Dean’s stern expression faltered long enough for Castiel to see how happy the simple endearment had made him feel. Dean moved around the table and stole a kiss from Castiel.

“You can show me the case you’ve found that’s got you all excited and mainlining coffee while we eat,” Dean said. He gave Castiel one more kiss before making his way out of the library. He called over his shoulder just before he left the room. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, Detective Baum did mail out two care packages in the weeks following the events in the basement. One to Ashley, Dillon, & Scott's new home and one to a P.O. Box in Kansas. The first contained a collection of notebooks worn with age and, in some instances, overflowing with pictures and things tucked between the pages. The second box was smaller and contained only a mixtape.
> 
> \------------------
> 
> This fic, after looking through my planner and doing some math, took me five and a half months to write. I'm soooo pleased with how it turned out and I really hope those of you who have made it to the end have enjoyed reading it even a fraction as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you so much. -- Ami.
> 
> Find me on tumblr: amirosebooks


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